If you're taking a stroll around Webster, Mass, BOLO

As anyone who grew up in Worcester County knows, the honors for the longest name for any geographic whatever - mountain, canyon, river, lake - in the United States goes to Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg, which is mostly known as Webster Lake. 

The lake's name comes from the Algonquian language of the Nipmuc and is often said to mean, "Fishing Place at the Boundaries—Neutral Meeting Grounds". A more fitting translation is "lake divided by islands", according to anthropologist Ives Goddard. The most memorable translation, however, is supposedly: "You fish on your side; we fish on our side; nobody fish in the middle." (Source: Wikipedia) 

Other than the lake, there's not a lot to distinguish Webster, Massachusetts from dozens of other former milltowns in New England. But they've been in the news of late, thanks to a water monitor lizard named Goose, who went on the lam a couple of weeks ago. Goose is no tiny little lizard that you might keep in a terrarium in the kids' bedroom. No, Goose is five feet long, and could grow to eight. (I think I read that they're second only, lizard-size-wise, to Komodo dragons.)

On one of the news stations, I saw video of Goose making his escape, pushing out a second floor window screen of its home on Blueberry Lane, landing on the roof, and leaping to the ground. That was some leaping lizard is all I can say.

The cops were called in, but they were initially unsure just what they were looking for.

"I didn't even know what a water monitor was," [Webster Police Chief Michael] Shaw said. "When they told me that there was one lost up in Blueberry Hill, I thought it was person that was gotten lost checking water meters." (Source: Boston Globe)

No reason why Webster PD would be a familiar with water monitors. They're not exactly native to Massachusetts - they hail from Southeast Asia. But occasionally they're kept as pets. And occasionally they do escape or are "freed." (Probably when they grow in size to five feet or so.) Over the years, they've been spotted in the wild Arizona, California, Texas, and Florida. (You can't legally own one in Massachusetts, but since when does that stop anyone?)

Webster PD searched the area, and even brought the drones in. No dice. After a couple of days, the search was called off. Then, a week after Goose made his great escape, it was seen just over the Connecticut border. 

Although water monitors aren't supposed to be all that aggressive, and "are not known to attack humans or dogs/cats," they are venemous. And they do go after fish and critters in the wild. (A water monitor's gotta eat, you know.) If cornered, they might attack. So animal control is warning folks to not try to confront or capture Goose if they come across it.  

The federal Nonindigenous Aquatic Species index has this to say:

 "The potential impact of these huge, aggressive predators on indigenous wildlife almost certainly would be negative should they establish themselves," the index says, noting that "their size and aggressive behavior" could make them dangerous. But water monitors haven't established themselves anywhere in the U.S.

Since they haven't "established themselves anywhere in the U.S." it's unlikely that Goose will find a cadre of fellow water monitors with a colony it could join up with. Phew. Water monitor colonies are just what we don't need.

Meanwhile, the good citizens of Webster have been enjoying the notoriety:

One Webster resident, Pete Tarbox, has even taken to wearing, and kayaking in, a lizard onesie.

“I bought the manly lizard suit because of the buzz around town,” Tarbox told Boston.com. “I thought I’d add to the vibe.”

“I hope they find him safe and sound,” said Tarbox, who has been checking his property for signs of the lizard. (Source: boston.com)

I'm sure that the Websterites were all bummed to learn that Goose had migrated to Connecticut. Wherever Goose was, they had something to talk about other than their lake's long name. (And someone - a grownup someone - actually owns a lizard onesie? Not much doing in Webster, I guess.)

Goose, of course, might just have meandered back to Webster. So even with its wherabouts unknown, Websterites were no doubt strolling around Webster, Mass, or cooling off in Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg, remained BOLO. If you were swimming in the lake, imagine coming across a five-foot lizard? (On second thought, don't imagine it.)

As it turns out, Goose - perhaps missing the comforts of home, like 3 squares he didn't have to hunt and gather on his own - was found in early August back in Webster. Goose was not returned to his "owner," as ownersip of water monitors is illegal.

Goose is now living his best life in an animal refuge.

And the folks in Webster have a tale to tell that doesn't involve the tongue-twisting name of their lake.

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Image Source: Wikipedia

Has your duck gotten its flu shot yet?

A few weeks ago, I got my jab. Double jab, actually: next round of covid, annual flu.

What I did not get was vaccination against avian flu. That's because humans rarely get avian flu, and the humans who do come down with it have generally been up close and personal with birds. So avian flu vaccination? Strictly for the birds.

And among the birds it's for are the 64 million ducks of France. So France has embarked on a major campaign to get its extensive population of canards squared away. The initiative:

...aims to prevent the spread of a deadly variant of avian influenza that has forced French farmers to cull more than 30 million birds in the past three years, contributing to a downturn in the production of foie gras. (Source: NY Times)

64 million is an awful lot of ducks. It's almost the equivalent of France's human population. In contrast, the US has a bit over 30 million ducks, for a ratio of humans to ducks of over 10:1.

“A real glimmer of hope,” Éric Dumas, a duck farmer and the president of France’s foie gras federation, said in a statement after the agriculture minister, Marc Fesneau, visited his farm near Bordeaux to inaugurate the campaign.

The French government will be picking up most of the$80M euro ($84 USD) tab for the vaccination. That's beaucoup de sous, but:

That is a fraction of the more than a €1 billion the government paid in 2021 and 2022 to compensate farmers who had been required to cull their birds, according to a recent French parliamentary report.

I'm happy that the ducks will stay healthy, but I have mixed feelings about foie gras. (I'm no gastronome, but I will confess to having eaten it on occasion. I just don't love-love it, and don't tend to seek it out.):

Foie gras is the term for the liver of a duck or goose that has been fattened by forced feeding. For many the dish is a hallmark of French gastronomy; others say that the way it is produced constitutes torture and animal cruelty.

So, it's a pretty nasty business. (Side note: I associate foie gras with geese, not ducks, but there's greater than an order of magnitude more foie gras ducks than there are foie gras geese in France.)

One downside of the vaccination program - other than the fact that someone's (make that a lot of someones) is going to have to go to all these farms and inoculate 64 million ducks - is that, because the French ducks will be vaccinated, they won't be exportable to the U.S. Our Agriculture Department fears that symptoms of avian flu will be hidden as "vaccinated poultry may not show signs of bird flu, thus masking whether the virus is circulating."

But on the upside, there are concerns that, if it's not wiped out, "bird flu could mutate into a version that can be transmitted to humans." So by all means, vaccinate those ducks.

And it sounds like the US - even though we have nowhere near as many ducks as France does - might want to get on the vaccination stick here, too. 

But this would probably just bring even more anti-vaxxers out of the woodwork. 

Bonne chance to France! 

How much is that doggy up for lease now? The one with the waggly tail?

Honestly. I really do want to get a dog. I just haven't gotten around to it. Yet. Which is not surprising, given that there are plenty of other things I haven't gotten around to. Yet. And that medium-long list includes filing my taxes for 2020. (I've got until May 17th. What's the hurry?)

But I do have dog hunger, and am happy to live in a doggy building, where there are four doggos to pet.

The one I know best is Frankie, some sort of yellow lab mix mutt who was rescued from South Carolina last year. He's still a pup - maybe a year old - and until my friend and neighbor, Brian, acquired him, he'd never been indoors. 

I usually see Frankie every day, at least for a quick hello and scratch under the chin (his, not mine). He is most definitely a cutenik. 

Frankie is a funny bunny. For one thing, for a dog who started out on Tobacco Road, Frankie is pretty fussy when it comes to snacks. When Brian told me that the Frank-ster preferred soft chicken snacks, I got the best ones that CVS had to offer. Frankie turned his snout up at them. (I don't blame him: they smelled pretty nasty.)

So I went to the South End Polka Dog, part of a small Boston pet store chain that specializes in handcrafted, artisanal dog treats. There, I bought two types of handcrafted, artisanal dog treats. Frankie doesn't like either. 

Fortunately, Frito, an ancient, roly-poly chihuahua who doesn't live here but visits frequently, is fine with anything. So I get to unload some of the handcrafted, artisanal dog treats when he blows in. 

Still, it amazes me that Frankie is such a snack snob.

Nonetheless, I'm quite fond of him and enjoy my daily mini-visits with him.

The other day, headed out for a walk, I ran into Brian and Frank and volunteered to take Franko out for a spin. Brian a) warned me that Frank's a tugger, and b) couldn't find the harness leash. So out I went with a regular old leash, and quickly found out that Frank is, indeed, a tugger. At one point, I thought he was going to pull my shoulder out of its socket. Not to mention that he's not yet fixed, so he feels the need to squirt on every street light, trash bin, bush, wrought iron fence, and bush that he comes across. 

Other than that, it was a very pleasant walk: a beautiful day, out with a cute dog. 

What's not to like?

When I do get around to getting my dog, I'll be happy with a rescue like Frank or a breeder-bought dog (in which case: Lab). My only rules are no pit bulls and no little yappers. And although I'm not going to deny that cuteness doesn't matter,  the dog in my future doesn't have to be as cute as Frankie.

What I will not be doing is going to a pet store to purchase the doggy in the window, the one with the waggly tail. 

And the last thing I'd ever do was lease a dog, a practice that I had never heard of until I saw an article the other day about a couple of (where-else) Nevada-based companies that:

...waived dog-lease balances totaling more than $126,000 after they allegedly illegally leased dogs in Massachusetts, Attorney General Maura Healey’s office announced Thursday...Dog leases function similarly to those of cars where the consumer is required to make monthly payments for the duration of the lease before making a final payment and taking ownership of the dog. If a dog owner misses a payment, the dog could be repossessed by the pet store, Healey’s office said. (Source: Boston Globe)

These outfits were violating Massachusetts law, which forbids dog leases in our fair commonwealth, in part because the interest rates charged our pretty hefty - in some cases more than doubling the cost of the pet. Not to mention that it's just plain awful, all the way around, if a leased dog - as opposed to a leashed dog - is repossessed. 

The good news for anyone who bought their pup through a retailer and took out one of these leases is that any balances owed are now wiped out. Plus any payments made since January 1st are being refunded. And everyone gets to keep their dog. 

I understand why someone would want to get a dog. This year especially, there's been a huge demand for them. When I checked last fall with the area's largest rescue shelter (the place where my sister had gotten her late, beloved rescue Jack) they'd closed their waiting list. That list had 14,000 names on it. 

So you want a dog. There are no rescues. Going to a breeder for a healthy pure-bred dog is a costly proposition. But you want a dog. And that leaves dog-napping or the pet store in the mall. (Not that pet store dogs are cheap; they're just likely to be less expensive than a dog raised by an AKC breeder - as long as you don't factor in the finances charges)

When it comes to acquiring a dog, pet stores do have some advantages (however dubious those advantages might be). They're more convenient that seeking out a good breeder. There's no background checking. And you can make an impulse buy. 

While I would never go the pet shop route, I get why someone looking for a dog might walk by some pet shop and fall in love with the doggy in the window. Even if that doggy in the window is likely to be a poorly bred puppy mill pupper with health and temperament issues just around the corner. And if you can't afford the upfront costs and someone offers you a lease, and you really want that dog, I'm sure it's pretty easy to take on a lease.  

And leasing fits with the overall leasing/renting vs. owning trend. People rent clothing for fancy occasions, rent hats for British weddings. I know a ton of people who lease their cars rather than purchase them outright. 

But that's a hat. That's a car. 

Not a love-bug doggo who becomes part of the family. Sure, it's not as bad as leasing a kid. But it's right up there.

There's a common meme on Twitter that goes "we don't deserve dogs."

And dogs sure don't deserve to get accustomed to a home and then get ripped out of it when their owners can't make the rent payments. 

A big arf and a woof of tail-wagging approval to our AG Maura Healey. 

Cassowary for sale

There’s something to be said for dying while doing something you love, and that’s what happened a few weeks ago to a Florida fellow.

Marvin Hajos was a 75-year-ld Bronx native who became bird breeder.

To each his own, and bird breeding was Hajos’. Make that exotic bird breeding.Make that ratite breeding, a group that includes ems, ostriches and cassowaries.

A cassowary is a large flightless bird, a close relative of the emu – the bird currently starring in the Liberty Mutual ads – Liberty Mutual. Emu. Get it? Yes and no.

Cassowaries can’t fly, but they can run 30 mph and leap almost 7 feet into the air. And they’re big: 5 feet fall, maybe even 6 fett tall, and well over 100 pounds.

"The cassowary is rightfully considered the most dangerous bird in the world!" the [San Diego] zoo says. "Each 3-toed foot has a dagger-like claw on the inner toe that is up to 4 inches (10 centimeters) long! The cassowary can slice open any predator or potential threat with a single swift kick.” (Source: CNN)

Hajos was on the receiving end of a swift cassowary kick when he fell and one of hisbirds attacked him.

Cassowaries aren’t for the faint of heart pet owner.

The Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission considers cassowaries Class II wildlife, meaning they pose a danger to humans and are subject to specific cage requirements. Owners must also have “substantial experience with the animals, the commission says.

Class II is the same category as alligators, honey badgers and clouded leopards, while Class I includes more traditional predators such as a lions, tigers and bears.

Lions and tigers and bears. Oh my. (Honey badger don’t care.)

Well, with Mr. Hajos no longer on the scene, his survivors needed to see to what would become of his “animal estate,” and estate that includes macaws and kookaburras. And a few cassowaries. Including his killer.

The auction was held last weekend, but as of this writing, I’m not sure what became of the cassowary with blood on its claw.

Bill Grotjahn, who investigated the death for the Medical Examiner’s Office, said Mr. Hajos had died from trauma inflicted by the bird. He called it “such an unusual situation.”

“I’ve been doing this for 18 years and I’ve never had a thing like this,” [Bill Grotjahn, an investigator with the Florida Medical Examiner’s Office] said. “I’ve had them killed by alligators and snakes but never by a bird like that. I know ostriches and emus have their moments, but cassowaries are an extremely, extremely dangerous bird. You don’t want to fool around with them. They have no sense of humor.” (Source: NY Times)

Personally, while I’d prefer to have a pet with a sense of humor, but it wouldn’t be a deal breaker for me. But that “extremely, extremely dangerous” would give me pause. Especially a known killer.

Not that murder-by-cassowary is all that common. The last known killing was nearly 100 years ago in Australia (their native turf).

It was not clear why the bird that killed Mr. Hajos was not put down after the attack.

Certainly the question that inquiring minds are asking themselves.

Mr. Hajos, by the way:

…did not need a permit for his cassowaries because he “employed an agricultural exemption for his possession of cassowaries for agricultural use.”

That would be “meat, eggs and live animal sales.”

Inquiring minds might be asking a few more questions. Like who eats cassowary meat? Does it taste like chicken? And who eats cassowary eggs? What size omelet do they make?

I did find someone out there in Internet world who does raise cassowary because the chicks are, ahem, “adorable.”

“Adorable”?

Maybe as a chick. But once it grows into a six-footer with a dagger claw and no sense of humor. Plus a nasty disposition to boot.

I think I’d be a bit wary of a cassowary.

Not to mention that the cost could be as high as $10K.

As for Mr. Hajos, may he rest in peace.

Imaging surviving a Bronx childhood to get ripped apart by a cassowary.

I know he wasn’t singing about cassowaries, but John Prine was sure onto something when he wrote “It’s a big old goofy world.”

Just us Silicon Valley chickens

I was talking to a guy at the gym/PT the other day, and he mentioned that his wife is a dog trainer, and a dog trainer-trainer. One of her techniques for training the trainer is to use chickens as proxies for dogs. I was a bit skeptical, but turns out it’s a thing.

What’s also a thing is the notion that chickens are actually smarter than dogs.

In terms of IQ, I can accept the fact that pigs might be smarter than dogs. But chickens?

Not that I know any chickens, but, well, my thinking runs along the lines of “nah.”

After all, dogs are smart enough, at least in this country, to get fed well, kept indoors, sleep in beds, and – this is the key differentiator – not get eaten. On the other hand, chickens (even the ones who aren’t industrialized in chicken factories to begin with), on tend to live in cramped, smelly coops, eat chickenfeed, have their eggs snatched, and then get their necks wrung and feathers plucked. All in all, if I’m coming back as an animal, I’d prefer the canine life to the galline one. (And, yes, I had to look it up.)

But if I did have to come back as a chicken, there are worse places to hunt and peck than way out west in Silicon Valley:

In America’s rural and working-class areas, keeping chickens has long been a thrifty way to provide fresh eggs. In recent years, the practice has emerged as an unlikely badge of urban modishness. But in the Bay Area — where the nation’s preeminent local food movement overlaps with the nation’s tech elite — egg-laying chickens are now a trendy, eco-conscious humblebrag on par with driving a Tesla.In true Silicon Valley fashion, chicken owners approach their birds as any savvy venture capitalist might: By throwing lots of money at a promising flock (spending as much as $20,000 for high-tech coops). By charting their productivity (number and color of eggs). And by finding new ways to optimize their birds’ happiness — as well as their own. (Source: Washington Post)

I suppose that if you’ve paid a buck and a half for a modest 3 bedroom ranch, $20K for a chicken coop is, well, chickenfeed.

And you don’t put any old chicken in a $20K shed, or even – if you’re going to cheap out (cheep out?) – a lowly Williams Sonoma chicken coop that goes for $1.5K:

While the rest of the nation spends $15 on an ordinary chicken at their local feed store, Silicon Valley residents might spend more than $350 for one heritage breed, a designation for rare, nonindustrial birds with genetic lines that can be traced back generations. They are selecting for desirable personality traits (such as being affectionate and calm — the lap chickens that are gentle enough for a child to cuddle), rarity, beauty and the ability to produce highly coveted, colored eggs.

Desirable personality traits, eh. Lap chickens, eh.

Tracing back generations – and I thought that’s what ancestry.com was for – so that you can take pride in having a:

…Dorking, an endangered British breed with a sweet disposition and roots that stretch back to the Roman empire.

Yet again, eh.

As for “highly coveted, colored eggs”, I guess when everything is being roboticized, autonomously-driven, and voice-activated and commanded, who wants to spending precious time – time better spent charting chicken productivity or having a convo with your neighbors about optimal personality traits for their flocks – getting out the 10 year old teensy-tiny bottles of Paas or McCormick food dye and coloring your own eggs. When you can have an Easter Egger clucking around that produces pale blue eggs. (Yes, but can these “highly coveted, colored eggs” come in multi-colors with swirls and rick-rack striping? Do they come with decals? I think not.)

And lest you think that for a Silicon Valley moment that these pricey, fancy, high-living chickens are eating feed out of a Purina bag, these chicks breakfast, lunch and sup on:

…a steady diet of organic salmon, watermelon and steak.

Not surprisingly, owners have cameras set up so that they can watch their flocks by night from the comfort of their living room. And, naturally, there’s an app for that. From your smartphone, Coop Tender is controls coop temperature, ventilation and lighting. (Among the features: “predator motion detection.”)

Everyone’s not in it for the long haul. There’s one owner who has plans to, at some point, turn her upscale coop into an Airbnb.

“My timber framed, Gingerbread coop is gorgeous: wired for electrical, plumbed for water, incorporating vintage windows and doors,” Laura Menard, a proud owner from an upscale Silicon Valley suburb, noted over email.

Eww…

Anyway, these are some pampered chickens. Literally. There are chicken diapers that let your chickens free-range in your home without having to worry about slipping on a tiny little leave behind. (Is there an app or Roomba for changing chicken diapers?)

And, by the way, a “chicken whisperer” can command $225 an hour. (Am I in the wrong business, or what?)

The theory is that it’s not so much health or back-to-nature that’s driving the chicken keepers. It’s being able to demonstrate where you sit in the pecking order.

[Chicken whisperer Laura] Citroen’s 19-year-old son, Luca, who grew up around the family business, puts it this way: “Being able to say you have chickens says, ‘I have a back yard,’ and having a back yard says, ‘I have space.’ And having space means you have money, especially when it comes to Silicon Valley real estate.”

That, and being able to show up for dinner and bringing a six-pack of your own bespoke eggs, instead of a bottle of wine. Which might be an okay host/hostess gift if it comes from your own vineyard.

As I say, if I do get reincarnated as a chicken, please, please, please let it be in Silicon Valley, pushing out pale blue eggs, and not within the chicken industrial complex.

An emotional support peacock? And I thought emotional support snakes were out there…

Since the passenger was an artist, and a performance artist at that, I’m guessing that trying to bring a peacock onboard a flight as an “emotional support” animal is some sort of performance (and/or publicity) piece. Because, really, just how much support does one get from a peacock?

Here’s the story:

A woman showed up at Newark Airport, intending to get on her flight with her emotional support peacock.

Right.

United Airlines doesn’t always get it right. Didn’t they recently drag a passenger off after he wouldn’t give up his seat, having been randomly picked to get kicked off due to UA’s having overbooked the flight? And wasn’t it United that wouldn’t board the family with kids wearing leggings (or whatever offending item of clothing it was), again because they’d overbooked the flight. So, despite using Gershwin’s gorgeous “Rhapsody in Blue” as their theme, the skies aren’t always friendly.

But all I can say in this situation is bravo, United.

United Airlines confirmed that the exotic animal was barred from the plane Saturday because it “did not meet guidelines for a number of reasons, including its weight and size.”

“We explained this to the customer on three separate occasions before they arrived at the airport,” a spokeswoman for the airline said in a statement Tuesday.

United Airlines did not identify the bird’s owner, citing privacy policies. (Source: Washington Post)

United didn’t identify the bird’s owner, but let’s hear it for Google: her name is Ventiko. She’s a

…critically acclaimed conceptual artist working in photography, performative experiences and social practice. Her work focuses on the (re)construction of moments not in time but in thought to express social positions on sexuality, persona and the state of the modern woman.

I knew it!

Conceptual artist…performative experience…the state of modern woman.

Christ, if the state of modern woman is that she needs an emotional support peacock, we’re all doomed.

I couldn’t find any mention on Ventiko’s website – but, ahem, perhaps talking about your emotional support peacock is too personal and experience for your business web page – but the peacock is apparently named Dexter. (Dexter? Hmmmm. Isn’t that the name of a TV serial killer?)

And if you guessed that Ventiko lives in Brooklyn. Well, ding, ding, ding for you.

I’ve had my say about emotional support animals in the past, posting Pet Friendly more than 3 years ago. What I said then pretty much still holds.

I just wouldn’t have anticipated that peacocks would be getting in the game.

Peacocks, after all, aren’t exactly known for their dispositions and empathetic personalities. While they’re quite beautiful when in full display, they’re known to be pretty nasty. Aggressive in mating season. And – if you’ve ever been to a zoo where they’re roaming around – capable of making some of the most ear-splitting, god-awful sounds known to man.

There are some folks out there – the type who think that chickens make good little companions – who are all in for peacocks as pets. (No word on whether they’re good at providing emotional support.) But when it comes to peacocks, I’ll take the word of the animal-loving Brits:

Because of their nature, peacocks are not really suitable to be kept as pets in residential areas. Peacocks are ideally suited to Country Houses, or rural areas with no close neighbours. (Source: Wrexham Government pamphlet.)

And if peacocks don’t belong in residential areas, they sure don’t belong on airplanes.

Federal law requires that airlines allow passengers with disabilities to bring support animals onboard, whether they’re fully trained service animals (like a Seeing Eye dog) or so-called emotional support animals.

But airlines have some latitude to deny boarding to certain “unusual” service animals, including snakes, other reptiles, ferrets, rodents and spiders. When deciding to allow animals such as miniature horses, pigs and monkeys, the airlines must determine whether the animal is a threat to the health or safety of others or would cause a disruption on the flight.

The problem is not, of course, those with legitimate reasons to bring along an animal. It’s the a-holes who pull some bogus document off a website. This has brought about something of a proliferation of bad-actor animals pissing, shitting, vomiting, biting, and generally acting in an unruly – even animal-like -  manner on flights – disturbing everyone on the plane.

Stories abound of scenes seemingly out of a parody movie: A duck wandering around an airline aisle, or a flight attendant who said that they were asked to administer oxygen to a dog that its owner claimed was having an anxiety attack midflight.

I’m all in favor of emotional support. Yay, emotional support! But if you’re so in need of emotional support that you have to bring a pecking, screeching peacock with you, maybe you just need to stay at home.

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Thanks to my sister Trish for offering her practical and emotional support but texting me a link to this story in the very moment of dire need of a Pink Slip topic.

More evidence of the wonderfulness of doggos

Every once in a while, amid all the bad or unfathomable or annoying news, there’s a smile- or tear-inducing human or, in this case, canine- interest story. The current Boston feel good story is about a dog who’s in training for a swell new job at the Museum of Fine Arts. Oh, the job may not pay well – or pay anything, for that matter. But how great is this:

Riley, a Weimaraner puppy, was recently acquired by the Museum of Fine Arts on a volunteer basis to detect insects and other pests that might be hiding on existing or incoming collections at the gallery. (Source: Boston Globe)

It’s like a William Wegman photo shoot made real.

Dogs, of course, have a superior sense of smell, which is why they’re used to sniff out drugs in airports. And why pups have been known to detect cancer in their owners. So why not train them as sleuths to determine whether moths or bugs that can do great harm to “certain types of artwork, like textiles, wood, or organic materials”?

“We have lots of things that bring, by their very nature, bugs or pests with them,” said Katie Getchell, chief brand officer and deputy director of the Museum of Fine Arts. “If he can be trained to sit down in front of an object that he smells a bug in, that we can’t smell or see, then we could take that object, inspect it, and figure out what’s going on — that would be remarkable in terms of preserving objects.”

The museum already checks for these types of problems, but with Riley, it’ll have “an added layer of protection.”

And an added layer of cuteness. Weimaraners are pretty darned cute in general, and Riley is pretty darned cute in particular. Other than in William Wegman art, you don’t tend to see all that many of them. In my neighborhood, there seem to be a preponderance of Labs and Frenchies, with a few terriers, bassets, and shepherds thrown in. Occasionally, I see a Weimaraner, but not all that often.

My Chicago grandmother had a succession of Black Labs – Midnight, Thunder, and Lightning – but her next door neighbors, the Baumgartner sisters, stuck to their German roots and had Weimaraners. And on our biennial trips to Chicago, we’d get to see them hanging around and playing with Thunder and Lightning. (I think Midnight went to doggy heaven before my time.)

I actually don’t know why Grandma Wolf had dogs. She was a cleanliness fanatic. You could eat off the floors of her whitewashed basement. And surely she must have been bothered by some of the behaviors and antics of dogs.

Plus my grandmother had absolutely no sense of humor, which seems to me one of the essential qualities for someone who wants to have a dog.

My Uncle Bob and Uncle Jack were both hunters, so Labs – those duck retrievers – might have made some sense. But what kind of hunters were they in the 1940’s, when Grandma acquired Midnight? Jack was born in 1930, and Bob in 1940.

Or perhaps it was that Grandma recognized that dogs are worker bees. Just like she was. If anyone I know can be said to have worked like a dog, it was my grandmother. When she came to Worcester for her biennial trip – we switched off years, with respect to who went where – my parents would save up chores for her so that she’d be happy. Put in a row of hedgerows! Whitewash the basement, so it could at least somewhat resemble hers!

Yes, dogs are workers.

They’re retrievers. They’re hunters. They’re ratters. They’re sniffer-outers.

And even if they’re not gainfully employed, they have those innate skills. Not to mention that they have superlative skills in terms of companionship, affection, cuteness, and emotional intelligence.

Honestly, I didn’t need any more evidence on the wonderfulness of dogs. But reading about Riley, well, talk about frosting on the cupcake of life.

Best of luck to Riley. Even if the job at the MFA doesn’t pan out, I’m guessing he’ll have plenty of opportunities in the normal doggo world.

And you didn’t think anything could get worse for United? Hah!

In March, PR Week named United CEO Oscar Munoz its Communicator of the Year for 2017. Since then, Communicator Munoz has had plenty of opportunity to live up to this award. Or not.

First, there was “leggingsgate”, in which some teenage friends-and-family travelers were banned from a flight because they were wearing leggings, which are okay for regular travelers but not, apparently, for those who are representin’.

Leggingsgate was jolly good fun compared to what came next, when a passenger who refused to give up a seat so that United personnel could be accommodated, was roughed up while being dragged off his flight. Big stock price dip, and big law suit in the making, on that one. And Communicator Munoz got very poor marks for how he’s been handling it. All it gave us was a new word: “reaccommodated”,which means that the airline finds another flight for passengers kicked off their original flight.

Then came yesterday’s death of a giant bunny rabbit who expired on a flight from the UK to O’Hare, on his way to his forever home. (I was going to say it was “twagic,” but I don’t know for a fact that this wabbit was cwazy. But how can I resist a comment on the name of the airport that poor Simon was flying through. O’Hare airport. Oh. Hare.)

Simon wasn’t just any old – make that young: he was only 10 months old - rabbit. He was a Giant Continental whose father, Darius, held the Guinness record as the world’s longest rabbit. And Simon, at 3 feet 5 inches long, “may have been on track to break his father’s record.” Simon had been to the flight shortly before he started his final journey and something gang very agley for him,

‘‘He had that exam three hours before he left me to go to Heathrow,’’ [owner Annette] Edwards said in a phone interview. ‘‘He then got to Heathrow, apparently, and he was fine. In Chicago he had to board to go to another flight — and that’s when I believe they found him dead.’’ (Source: Washigton Post via the Boston Globe)

The article doesn’t mention whether Simon was traveling in the hold or being hand-carried. But at 3 feet 5 inches in length, I suspect he was in the pet hold. Quite sweet, in any case, that the way Ms. Edwards spoke about Simon, it sounded as if she thought he was going to get himself on his connecting flight – perhaps with a lift from a friendly gate agent or stew. As someone who’s observed how attentively (hah!) unaccompanied minors are treated, one can imagine the care that unaccompanied pets get.

United Airlines confirmed in an e-mail that Simon had died, writing: ‘‘The rabbit has passed away, but the details surrounding that are being reviewed.’’

In a statement, United added: ‘‘We were saddened to hear this news. The safety and well-being of all the animals that travel with us is of the utmost importance to United Airlines and our PetSafe team. We have been in contact with our customer and have offered assistance. We are reviewing this matter.’’

They better be reviewing the matter. What’s come out in the wash here is that United has a pretty dismal record when it comes to transporting animals. It’s rate of incidents (death, injury, loss) in 2016 was 2.11 per 10,000 animals. The industry average is 0.92 incidents per 10,000 animals. United’s is more than double. Not exactly ‘fly the pet-friendly skies.’

It must be quite terrifying for a pet to fly in an airplane hold: the dark, the noise, the confinement, the cold (or is it heat?), the lack of humans around (which pets will, of course, be used to). I wouldn’t be surprised to find that poor Simon stressed out and had a heart attack. Still, United’s got a pretty poor record with respect to animals.

What will Communicator Munoz have to say about that?

And what’s next in store for United?

A fist fight between a pilot and a steward, which turns into a passenger-involving brawl? Godzilla plucking a United jet out of the sky and munching on it? Snakes on a plane?

Forget what Trump has or hasn’t been accomplishing in his first 100 days. How about Oscar Munoz’ first 100 days since being given the Communicator of the Year award?

How much is that doggy in the window? Read the fine print and find out.

The best place to get a puppy is, of course, a shelter. Or a breeder. But sometimes people go to pet stores. Which is what Californian Dawn Sabins did when she wanted a new dog. The golden that she purchased set her back $2,400 – more than she’d planned on, but what price doggy love?

The odd part came a few weeks later, when she and her husband were going over their credit reports and saw a $5,800 charge from a company they’d never heard of.

The Sabins had bought their new dog, Tucker, with financing offered at the pet store through a company called Wags Lending, which assigned the contract to an Oceanside, California-based firm that collects on consumer debt. But when Dawn tracked down a customer service rep at that firm, Monterey Financial Services Inc., she learned she didn’t own the dog after all. (Source: Bloomberg)

Turns out, Dawn hadn’t actually bought the dog; she was leasing it. And, failing to read the fine print, she was on the hook for nearly three years worth of monthly payments to the tune of $165.06. After 34 months, she had the option to buy the dog for two months rent. If she skipped a payment, the repo dog catcher could come and repossess it. And if the pooch pooched out on the family, by, say, catching the car it was chasing, they were responsible “for an early repayment charge.”

If they saw the lease through to the end, they would have paid the equivalent of more than 70 percent in annualized interest—nearly twice what most credit card lenders charge.

On its own, this would have been plenty bad, but the Sabins’ dog turned out to be too much for them. So Dawn did what any modern consumer would do. After selling the dog, she lodged her complaints online, where she found plenty of company among others who, without quite understanding what they were getting into, had gotten sucked into rent-a-pup or rent-a-kitty schemes.

I know, I know.

Caveat emptor, don’t buy anything other than a house or a car that you can’t really afford to pay for outright, and make sure to read any contract before you sign on the dotted line.

Still, I feel bad for those who got sucked in by Wags Lending, the brainchild of Dusty Wunderlich. (I will note that Dusty and Wunderlich - translation: whimsical – both make pretty good pet names.) Wunderlich is CEO of Bristlecone Holdings, operator of Wags, wearer of ostrich cowboy boots, fan of Ayn Rand, and someone dedicated to “improving the lives of subprime borrowers” all the time “living in a Postmodern culture while maintaining my old American West roots and Christian values.”

Sounds more Ayn Rand than Christian. But definitely postmodern.

Anway, Bristlecone – and I suspect many of his clientele feel like they’ve swallowed one, after dealing with one of his businesses – isn’t just into pet lending. He writes:

…leases against furniture, wedding dresses, hearing aids, and custom auto rims. In a little more than three years, his company has originated 66,000 leases for just over $100 million. He once worked out a plan to lease cattle to dairy farmers, though plummeting commodity prices soured the economics. (He got far enough to decide that if a cow gave birth during the terms of the lease, the lessee got to keep the calf.) In another idea that never reached the market, he explored lease financing for funerals.

“We like niches where we’re dealing with emotional borrowers,” Wunderlich said.

Emotional borrowers who get themselves on the hook for outlandish fees so that they can get custom auto rims (what’s wrong with plastic?) or fancy breed dogs (what’s wrong with shelter mutt?)?

How non-wonderful, and non-wunderlich, to make your living preying on emotional borrowers, most of whom can’t afford what they’re borrowing for.

Anyway, the full article is definitely worth a full read, if only to remind you about the abysmal level of financial literacy that’s alive and well across this great land of ours. Apparently no one learned anything from the mortgage crisis. And, hey, a dog is a lot lower-cost an item to get your credit and your life in a tangle over than is a house.

Of course, I can sympathize with someone who wants a dog.

It’s just that, if you’re a bit down on your cash, you really do need to go beyond asking how much is that doggy in the window. You need to take out your calculator (there’s probably one on your fancy smartphone) and figure out just what that doggy’s going to cost you over the life of the contract. And then you can take this bit of advice: forget Wags Lending and get thee to an animal shelter.

Boo? No, boo-hoo. A very sad Halloween for the Rogers family.

I’ve always loved Halloween. As a kid, you were out after dark, on your own marauding around the neighborhood with a bunch of your friends, collecting candy. What’s not to like?

As a grownup, I’ve continued to get a kick out of it, and it was much my husband’s favorite holiday.

While Halloween on Beacon Hill is quite a fun gallivant, once my sister Trish moved to Salem – the Halloween Capital of the World – we often spent the night there. For many years, Trish lived on a street just off of Salem Common, and would get several hundred trick-or-treaters over the course of the evening. Last year, she moved to a quieter neighborhood, but I was still looking forward to giving out candy, and just chillin’ with my sister and my dog nephew, Jack, the nicest and sweetest dog I’ve ever known.

As his regular dog sitter when his family was away, I got to know Jack very well. (My husband used to joke that we’d moved from being baby sitters to being dog sitters.) And I completely adored him. He was just incredibly affectionate and completely adorable, with a truly goofball personality.

Everybody who met Jack loved him. The best dog ever.

Jack had a special bond with my husband. (Diggy had an absolutely magic way with both kids and animals.) They were just wild about each other.

When Jack came into our home for the first time after Jim died, he searched upstairs and down for him, came back into the living room where we were all sitting around, let out a couple of moans, and lay down, head on paws, facing away from us.

Anyway, he was really a very lovable dog. My sister would say that he wasn’t the brightest bulb on the tree – not much IQ. But our sweet boy did have exceptional doggy EQ. Which he just demonstrated, yet again.

Jack was acting peculiarly, so Trish took him to the vet on Monday. They set up some tests, and on Thursday Trish got the awful news that Jack had brain cancer, and did not have long to live. They were hoping that with treatment, he could have a while with good quality of life, but it was not to be. On Friday, the much loved Jack died while napping, saddening the entire family – as my sister Kath said, Jack is an important part of our family – most especially my sister Trish and niece Molly. But in dying so quickly, Jack spared my sister the agony of having to make the decision to put him down, or to watch this sweet little puppy suffer.

This picture doesn’t do Jack justice, but it’s the last one I took of him. This was in late August, when I dog sat for his nibs while Trish got Molly back to school. We had our usual fun time, walking to Mack Park, hanging out in the yard, sniffing at stuff (Jack, not me).

I will miss him tremendously. As dogs do, he brought us all immense joy and pleasure.

Right about now, I’m hoping that there IS an afterlife, that Jack has found Diggy, and they’re whooping it up together.

I’ll be in Salem tonight, observing Halloween. Despite seeing the little trick-or-treaters all decked out, despite having unlimited access to Butterfingers, this will be a sad Halloween, indeed. But I know how these things work. It won’t be long before, every time we talk about Jack, we’ll be smiling.

Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of doggy angels bark thee to thy rest.

 

 

Forget cemeterian, how about being a dog telepath

Well, the other day, I was looking through the Brookline Adult Ed catalogue, and they had a listing for a one-day preparing-for-your-death class that was being taught by a “cemeterian”. I wasn’t familiar with this profession, and I’m still not sure whether it means someone who runs a cemetery, is interested in cemeteries, or – as the Urban Dictionary has it – is someone who’s one step away from the cemetery.

Anyway, I wasn’t interested in the program. Sure, I do have to re-do my will and pull a few things together so that – come the day – I’ll be ready. Wait a minute. Come the day, I won’t have to be ready.

Well, anyway.

I already have my ash plot bought and paid for, so I do know where my remains will remain.

I was going to do a post about what an interesting job cemeterian – whatever it actually is – must be, when I came across an even more interesting profession: animal telepath.

I read about animal telepathers in an article in The Boston Globe on what some might consider the extremes that some dog owners go to tend to their pups: dressing them up, buying (and wrapping) them presents, baking them cakes, procuring sex toys for them (yes indeed…the side of the couch and anyone’s leg just will not do), sending them to doggy day care, and plumbing the depths of their doggy little souls by hiring someone to communicate with them telepathically.

Other than sporty collars, I’m not much for dressing dogs up, other than maybe a silly hat for a quick picture. I’ve really never seen a dog that looked all that happy to be wearing a tutu, tux, or Sponge Bob outfit – and I’ve witnessed Boston’s pet Halloween Costumer Contest a couple of times.

But I have a recipe – which I’ve used – for doggie-delicious (no sugar) carrot and peanut-butter cake. I smile every time I see the doggy day care bus pull up a couple of doors down from my house. And I have gotten my dog nephew a subscription to a site that analyzes a pet’s type and suggests activities that will make their lives more fulfilling.

Apparently, I ain’t done nothing:

Dog owners can now hire canine-specific fitness trainers, chiropractors, and massage therapists … and we can dress our pups in Halloween costumes running the gamut from Yoda to the pope. We can buy dog strollers, automatic tennis ball launchers, and the MTI Jentle Pet, a dog hot tub with massage jets. Getting even weirder, there are pooch perfumes and colognes; Neuticles, a prosthetic testicular implant for neutered dogs; and the Hot Doll. (Source: The  Boston Globe.)

No wonder pet spending has tripled over the past two decades, and is now running at about $60B per year in the US.

Dog spending is nothing new. At just about the time that “the first commercial dog foods appeared in America in the 1870s, so did the first knitting patterns for dog sweaters.”

It’s just that there’s so much these days that goes beyond the choice of dog food – my dog nephew Jack is partial to Holly Jolly Pot Roast and Brats and Tots – and the pattern for the argyle sweater vest. And even beyond perfume and sex toys to the frontier of telepathy, both live and posthumous.

A local practitioner mentioned in Globe article is one Maureen Harmonay. My fellow Maureen is a central-Mass real estate agent with a sideline business with Animal Translations. Here’s a bit from her FAQ:

How can you be sure that you’ve really connected with my animal? In most instances, the animal will provide specific, verifiable details about something that is important to him.   It could be a memory, an unusual favorite food, a physical description of his home or environment, a recent event, or even the name of someone (animal or human) who has played a significant role in the animal’s life.   In many cases, an animal will provide information that I could not possibly known.

Are you a psychic? No.  While animal communication requires an intuitive sensibility, and the ability to perceive subtle energies, it does not rely on psychic prowess.   I do not make predictions about the future nor do I “read” the animal in some inexplicable way.

The information I receive is transmitted to me directly by the animal, through energy pathways.  These pathways, though invisible, are nonetheless quite real.   With the proper training, almost anyone can learn to develop the ability to use telepathy to connect with animals in a meaningful way.

Can you deliver messages to my animal for me? Yes.  The communication pathway is a two-way street.  During the course of a telepathic communication session, I receive impressions from the animals, and I also transmit information, images, ideas and queries back to them.  I may suggest to an animal how his behavior might be changed, or I might relay reassuring messages or expressions of encouragement from his person.  And of course, I can always ask questions on your behalf; in many cases, your animal will respond with specific answers.

She tuned in for a virtual “telepathic powwow” with one of the Globe writer’s pups and reported back that Biff does, indeed, prefer human food to his old brand, that he fears falling out of bed at night, and that he does not especially like wearing clothing. (I don’t think you need a telepath to figure that last one out.)

Biff also doesn’t like people laughing at him; “he would prefer to be respected.”

Many years ago, my roommate and I gave our dog Grimbald a particularly hideous toy: a rubber man’s wingtip shoe that he was especially fond of. One time we were laughing at Grim - kindly and gently, of course, not in a bullying or mean way; this was our dog – for the enthusiastic way in which he was playing with this toy. A look of pure embarrassment passed over Grim’s face, and he took the shoe into another room with him. So there.

So I understand that Biff might want respect.

I also understand that dogs can be especially empathetic and attuned, and definitely know what’s going on. Jack sure knew when my husband died. The first time he visited after Diggy’s death, Jack went around looking for this buddy, then let out a moan, and lay down (facing away from us) with his head on his paws and had his moments of grief.

So maybe someone really can have a telepathic encounter with a dog.

Should we try to find out what Jack is really thinking? Is he jealous that Molly gets to go away to college and he doesn’t? Should I try to tap into Grim and see if he was reunited with Diggy in the great beyond?

Hey, what the hell, I’ve spent money on stupider stuff that was a lot less fun and interesting.

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A nod to my sister Trish, Jack’s mom, for pointing this article out to me.

Power to the dog turd! (Or from the dog turd.)

For the next couple of nights, I’ll be babysitting my dog nephew Jack while his folks tote my niece off to college.

Jack is the apotheosis of doggy goodness, a credit to his species, and the reason why there’s no arguing with this statement:

In a perfect world, every dog would have a home, and every home would have a dog.

As far as I can tell, the only doggy downsides are having to get out of bed at the crack of dawn on a sleety morning to get or let him out, and having to pick up after he relieves himself.

Dogs are tremendous producers of affection and joy, but they also excrete “more than twice the waste of the average person, or around 275 pounds a year.” (I know what you’re thinking, and that’s ‘thanks for sharing.’)

Around 60% of the stuff gets scooped and trucked to landfills, where it releases methane, a greenhouse gas. The rest delivers surprises to pedestrians and can contaminate waterways, as carnivorous diets create pathogen-rich waste. (Source: The Economist)

As a city dweller, I can attest to the fact that, at least in this neighborhood, the surprise attacks on the shoes of non-observant pedestrians are mostly a thing of the past. Where once you had to walk these mean streets as if your feet had eyes, today it is rare to spot an unclaimed turd on the sidewalk. Usually, the worst thing you’ll see is some jackass who has bagged his dog’s deposit up, twirled the bag closed, and left it at the curb (or, unbelievably) on someone’s doorstep (including, on one occasion, mine).

I don’t know whether folks are contaminating the Atlantic Ocean or the Charles River (love that dirty water!) with dog waste, but when Jack visits I dispose of his waste in trash cans, where it wends its way into greenhouse gas.

I knew that flatulent cows produce methane, and that pig slurry encroaching on river catchments wasn’t a good thing, but I’m sorry to hear that pups aren’t carbon neutral. We can all become vegetarians, but the thought of giving up dogs...

Well, I don’t want to live in that world.

Anyway, in NYC, Ron Gonen, a business school professor/environmental guru is hoping to do something about the dog mess. The idea is to fit parks with small anaerobic digesters in order to:

…transform dog waste into clean energy in the city’s dog parks.

Dog owners would place their mongrels’ mounds into the machine, which then converts poo to gas for powering lamps and other park equipment. A year-long pilot would introduce digesters in three parks at a cost of around $100,000. The parks department is pondering the proposal.

That earlier attempts – including one in Arizona based on a device dubbed the Transformation Using Reactive Digestion (E-TURD) – haven’t succeeded isn’t enough to deter Gonen, who’s the co-founder and CEO of the Closed Loop Fund. The Fund is dedicated to recycling projects, and its aim is to:

Ensure that all consumer products and packaging is recycled and returned for use in manufacturing new products and packaging and that all food waste is used for beneficial purposes such as donation to food banks or converted to compost or clean energy from anaerobic digestion.

Until they head north, I guess I’ll just have to pick up after Jack and let the remains of his day convert to greenhouse gas. On the positive side, we’re walking to the park where Jack relieves himself, not burning up fossil fuel to get there.

I’d like to see Gonen’s project succeed and expand. Don’t want any do-gooders attacking our furry doo-doers because of their impact on the environment. Life without dogs would be such a no-fun zone.

Do They Know It’s Christmas?

Well, I’m all for Christmas presents for pets.

This year, the pet in my life – my sister Trish’s black lab – is getting a box of Greenies and some fancy treats that quite literally have his name (Jack) on them. Greenies are dental chews, and, while I don’t want to imply that Jack should be doing a better job brushing his teeth, he did just see a pet dentist, and we all want Jack to keep his fine white choppers in good shape.

Plenty of people get their pets gifts:

An estimated 50% of dog owners will buy their dog a gift, spending an average of $10, and 36% of cat owners, spending $7.80 per gift, the group says.  (Source: WSJ Online)

An average of $10? Guess I went overboard. And my gifts to Jack will by no means be the only presents he receives. By dollar value of the total swag Jack gets at Christmas, I’m guessing he’s something of a one-percenter.

Pet gifting is extending beyond dogs and cats:

Now, more families are trying to include other types of pets in their Christmas festivities, including guinea pigs, ferrets, hamsters and rabbits.

Some 28% of owners of these “small animals” are expected to buy their pet a Christmas present this year, spending an average of $16 per gift, according to the trade group American Pet Products Association.

Sixteen bucks for a rodent vs. ten for a canine? I know it’s all in the eye of the pet-holder, but I’ve yet to meet a hamster that’s worth 60% more than a dog. But if it’s your little guy, and it’s the most wonderful time of the year, etc., it’s hard to restrain yourself. And there’s plenty of stuff out there to spend on.

New items include gingerbread houses and scuba-diving Santa decorations for fish tanks and reindeer antlers and Santa hats for guinea pigs.

Hamsters are harder, Mr. [Steve] Chattin [VP PetSmart] says. “You try to put a hat on a hamster and their natural instinct is to take it off,” he says.

Red, green and white shredded-paper bedding to line animal cages is a big seller to “pet parents,” PetSmart’s term for its customers.

Santa hats for guinea pigs, eh?

On Christmas Eve, I’m sure that Jack will be sporting a holiday collar.

But that’s about it.

Other than an assortment of collars, the only clothing Jack owns is a Thundershirt, which is supposed to calm a dog down when it’s scary outside.

But if you do want to dude your pet up:

Many dogs happily sport Christmas sweaters, hats and bow ties, but persuading other species to wear clothing over their fur coats isn’t always easy. Petco says its new holiday stoles, made for rabbits, guinea pigs and ferrets, were designed in consultation with a veterinarian to be sure the fit is safe and comfortable, especially given the animals’ propensity to chew, burrow and squirm. Ms. [Jennifer] Loesch  [VP Petco] says “the stoles have Velcro closures for a quick breakaway if they want to wiggle out of it.”

For those less likely to wiggle, Ms. [Cindy] Breninger sells Santa hats for tortoises online.

Not content with a Santa hat, Ms. Breninger crafted up a little Christmas tree for her little critter to tote around. (Question for K&R: What Would Sluggo Do?)

I suspect that most folks don’t deck out their turtles.

But ferrets, now there’s another story altogether.

Ferrets are, apparently, the new dog.

Not only does Marshall Pet Products make all  kinds of Christmas gear with which to deck the ferrets:

Demand for holiday-themed ferret hats is so strong that next year Marshall, based in Wolcott, N.Y., plans to add a witch hat for Halloween, a party hat and a top hat for black-tie events. The Uncle Sam hat, sold for over 15 years, has become increasingly popular as more people involve ferrets in Independence Day parties, Ms. [Linda] Cope says.

As. More. People. Involve. Ferrets. In. Independence. Day. Parties.

We the ferrets of the United States…

When in the course of ferret events…

All ferrets are endowed by their creator…

Would the average ferret include being dressed up as an elf under the “pursuit of happiness”?

Is this a great nation (or at least an imaginative one) or what?

Meanwhile, back to the holiday at hand.

Dara Foster, a pet stylist based in Port Washington, N.Y., advises pet owners to remain calm and loving when trying to dress any animal, but especially hamsters and guinea pigs. “They don’t understand voice commands, but they’ll pick up on your energy,” she says. “And avoid anything with sleeves if you possibly can.”

Ms. Foster mostly dresses dogs on behalf of private clients and pet-product companies and for media events. But she anticipates her client list soon will include other types of animals as more owners seek ways to humanize them.

Hmmmm.

Rather than trying to figure out how to make pets more like humans, maybe we should be figuring out how to make humans more like pets. (Or at least like dogs…)

Anyway, they may not know it’s Christmas, but Merry Christmas to critters every where.

Pet friendly

Patricia Marx had an excellent piece in The New Yorker a few weeks back on the new pet-owner trend in which those who can’t stand being separated from their furry or feathered friends have them arbitrarily declared support companions. This enables them to bring their animals anywhere they damn well please: grocery shopping, out to dinner, trains and boats and planes.

Personally, I enjoy animals, and am, in particular, a dog lover.

Recently, I saw a sign that read something along the lines of: in an ideal world, all dogs would have homes, and all homes would have dogs.

True that…

While having a pup isn’t right for me just now, I look on my dogged up neighbors with envy, find myself petting at least one strange dog a day, get myself over to the off-leash area on the Boston Common on occasion to watch the canine frolic, and spend as much time possible chilling with my black lab nephew Jack – who really is the world’s cutest and sweetest dog ever.

But I don’t think that dogs – other than service dogs - let alone other non-human members of the animal kingdom  – belong everywhere.

Others think otherwise.

As Ms. Marx has it:

What a wonderful time it is for the scammer, the conniver, and the cheat: the underage drinkers who flash fake I.D.s, the able-bodied adults who drive cars with handicapped license plates, the parents who use a phony address so that their child can attend a more desirable public school, the customers with eleven items who stand in the express lane. The latest group to bend the law is pet owners.

…As you will have observed, an increasing number of your neighbors have been keeping company with their pets in human-only establishments, cohabiting with them in animal-unfriendly apartment buildings and dormitories, and taking them (free!) onto airplanes—simply by claiming that the creatures are their licensed companion animals and are necessary to their mental well-being. No government agency keeps track of such figures, but in 2011 the National Service Animal Registry, a commercial enterprise that sells certificates, vests, and badges for helper animals, signed up twenty-four hundred emotional-support animals. Last year, it registered eleven thousand. (Source: The New Yorker)

One woman that Marx wrote about went a-traveling with a large mutt – which, unlike true service animals, was untrained. Doggy Dowrong crapped in the aisle on a US Airways flight.

The plane had to make an emergency landing halfway cross country so that things could get cleaned up.

Some are flashing their “emotional-support card” and bringing their pooches into restaurants, where they allow their pets to climb on the table. (Something you never see a true service dog doing.)

Although restaurants and other businesses aren’t required to allow an emotional support animal into their premises, if someone’s waving their emotional-support card in their face, for the most part they cave in. Who wants to risk a legal wrangle? And who’s up on the laws?

Service dogs, on the hand, are the real deal:

The I.R.S. classifies these dogs as a deductible medical expense, whereas an emotional-support animal is more like a blankie. An E.S.A. [emotional support animal] is defined by the government as an untrained companion of any species that provides solace to someone with a disability, such as anxiety or depression.

E.S.A.’s are covered by the Fair Housing Act and the Air Carrier Access Act.

So any old animal who’s gotten a however-bogus certificate of E.S.A.-ness can live down the hall and get on your flight.

But that’s it.

Years ago, I shared a flight from Cleveland to Boston with a woman who was traveling with a howler monkey. I have no idea whether the animal was classified as an E.S.A. I don’t think we had them back in the day. Back then, we only had “seeing eye dogs”.

But I can say that they don’t call it a howler monkey for nothing. And the monkey’s uncle – or, rather aunt – spent the entire flight in one of the two toilets trying to provide emotional support to her howler.

Anyway, Marx wanted to check out just how bogus a racket E.S.A. credentials are, so she:

…decided to go undercover as a person with an anxiety disorder (not a stretch) and run around town with five un-cuddly, non-nurturing animals for which I obtained E.S.A. credentials (one animal at a time; I’m not that crazy).

Her first E.S.A., sporting an E.S.A. badge she found on Amazon, was a turtle. She took it to the Frick Museum, where she was told that no animals need apply.

So she took out her certifying letter, which stated that:

Ms. Marx has a turtle that provides significant emotional support, and ameliorates the severity of symptoms that affect her daily ability to fulfill her responsibilities and goals. Without the companionship, support, and care-taking activities of her turtle, her mental health and daily living activities are compromised. In my opinion, it is a necessary component of treatment to foster improved psychological adjustment, support functional living activities, her well being, productivity in work and home responsibilities, and amelioration of the severity of psychological issues she experiences in some specific situations to have an Emotional Support Animal (ESA).

She has registered her pet with the Emotional Support Animal Registration of America. This letter further supports her pet as an ESA, which entitles her to the rights and benefits legitimized by the Fair Housing Act and the Rehabilitation Act of 1973. It allows exceptions to housing, and transportation services that otherwise would limit her from being able to be accompanied by her emotional support animal.

There are, apparently, all sorts of folks who have some credential or another – think certified clinical social worker – who’ll chat you up on the phone, give you a remote diagnosis, and bless your use of your animal of choice. Marx talked to a social worker and got her snake certified, then modified the letter to cover a turtle, too.

Mostly you don’t even need to talk to anyone. You just click on a couple of forms, and your animal is good to go. (All for a fee, of course.)

During her period of E.S.A. exploration, Marx took:

• A turtle to the Frick and elsewhere – including a Christian Louboutin shop
• A snake to an apartment open house and to a Chanel boutique;
• A turkey on the Hampton Jitney and to a deli;
• An alpaca on Amtrak from NYC to Niagara Falls, and to a historic site “showcasing the nineteenth-century home of the painter Frederic Edwin Church;”
• A pig to Boston on JetBlue for tea at the Four Seasons.

Rarely was she turned down or any more than mildly challenged.

People with genuine impairments who depend on actual service animals are infuriated by the sort of imposture I perpetrated with my phony E.S.A.s.

Service dogs (and other true service animals: some folks use monkeys to take care of tasks in the home) do real work for people with real impairments.

Who can blame them for being ticked off?

A lot of those claiming that they need their pets for emotional support don’t really. And many of them are just out and out faking it.

I understand that animals can and do give plenty of comfort, and that they can understand plenty of what’s going on, emotional-wise.

When my sister’s dog Jack, who was very fond of my husband, came into our condo for the first time after Jim’s death, Jack looked around for a bit, figured out that Diggy wasn’t there, let out a little moan, sighed, and plopped on to the rug, head on paws, facing away from us.

Jack sure knew something was going on.

And just seeing comfort animals around does give comfort. After the Marathon bombings, a group came to Boston with a few golden retrievers to walk around giving comfort. They did.

But most folks, however emotionally needy they may be, don’t need to have their pets with them all the time. And if they do, maybe they should consider just staying home.

They’re exploiting the system, and, of course, denigrating and insulting those with real issues, who gain real, and genuinely needed, support by having their animals with them.

It’s a lousy things to do to the animals, too.

Every time I see him, I get plenty of emotional support from my canine pal Jack. But I’d never insult him by ordering some bogus certificate online, and slapping a fake official vest on him, so I could bring him into a restaurant.

Not that I’m completely above faking it as needed.

When we were seniors in college, and living off-campus, my roommate and I had a dog. A German shepherd.

One night, we got a call that her mother, who was recovering from breast cancer surgery. Mrs. B help that she wasn’t getting from her support team (Joyce’s eccentric aunts). We had to get to Rhode Island. Quickly.

I can’t remember why Joyce didn’t just go on her own. I do know that she wanted me for emotional support in what was going to be a tough situation.

In any case, we decided to chance taking Grimbald on the bus from Boston to Providence.

I put on a pair of sunglasses, and away we went.

So sometimes you really do have to fake it.

But that was then - 40+ years ago - and it was a one-time emergency situation.

And this is now, when the world is so me-me-me that a lot of people don’t give a damn about whether their little wants impose on the wants and needs of others.

Shame on them. And bravo to Patricia Marx for being something of a dog-whistle blower here. (Wish I’d run into her and the pig when they were walking around Boston Common.)

Golf goes to the dogs. (As do plenty of other unwitting consumers…)

Perhaps because dogs are people, too, I find the idea of eating dog completely appalling. In a way that I don’t find the idea of eating chicken, beef, and pork.

I guess that once dog lips touch yours, and you don’t go all Lucy Van Pelt over the experience, you’re a dog person. And while dog lips might touch yours, dog anything will never pass them. (Seriously. Eating dog? I don’t care if it tastes like chicken.)

So I get completely skeeved out by the thought of dog on the menu, as is pretty common in parts of Asia. But:

Not just the dog meat is prized. Factories use leather from dog skin for use in everything from drums to guitars, says John Dalley, co-founder and vice-president of the Soi Dog Foundation, a nongovernmental organization in Thailand devoted to canine welfare. Manufacturers of golf gloves also prize dog leather, Dalley adds, especially from the skin of the testicles of male dogs  “because that skin is particularly soft.” (Source: Business Week)

Okay. There’s dog skin, and then there’s dog skin.But whatever the source of that dog skin, I really don’t want to be wearing it.

(Alibaba.com, the business-to-business website owned by Chinese e-commerce powerhouse Alibaba, has lots of listings for gloves made from dogs.)

Couldn’t resist. I just clicked through. And while I did not see any mention of the t-word, I’m going to have to try and figure out whether my good pair of leather gloves are dog. Fortunately, most of my trusty winter go-to’s are made out of Polarfleece or the like.

The dog trade is illegal. And the trade is down, thanks to folks like Dalley putting pressure on Asian governments to crackdown on smugglers. Still, where there’s money to be made…

But these are pets, for crying out loud.

Thailand has a large population of stray dogs wandering the streets of major towns and cities, but most of those captured for meat or pelts are stolen from pet owners or temples. “Stray dogs are extremely difficult to catch,” explains Dalley. “It’s far easier to catch pet dogs or unwanted service dogs.” The illegal trade is based on “extreme cruelty from start to finish,” he adds. “We see over 100 dogs stuffed into cages in the back of pickup trucks. Lots of dogs are skinned alive. It’s a horrendous industry with absolutely no regulation.”

As for golf gloves made out of dog, don’t expect to see Poodle or Chihuahua gloves sponsoring the Masters anytime soon.

Sure, it’s one thing for Alibaba to talk dog. In China, they eat it so why not wear it?

But once they get to the pro shop, all those Phil Mickelson wannabes aren’t going to be trying dog on for size – or at least they won’t know that’s what they’re doing. Whatever its provenance, the leather will probably say “cabretta”, which is sheep skin. Which seems perfectly acceptable. After all, how many people accept sheep kisses? Isn’t that how anthrax is spread?

Of course, I wouldn’t put much of anything past golfers. If there’s something out there that will improve their game, most golfers I know – even those who are pretty much duffers – will go after it. I’m quite sure that if some golf guru claimed that using a mashie niblick would help trim a few strokes off their norm, there’d be a run on mashie niblicks (only this time around they’d be made with titanium).

I know, I know. It’s easy to accuse golfers of going to the dogs.

But there’s apparently quite a trade in canine (and feline) hides being passed off as a fur that gets a less visceral reaction – like fox or raccoon or any other animal that you’re not likely to have curling up beside you when you take a nap.

Skins from these animal go into making full-length and short coats and jackets. Fur-trimmed garments. Hats. Gloves. Decorative accessories. Even toy stuffed animals. All made with the fur of dogs and cats. (Source: Case4, a vegan on eBay – I take my information where I can get it. Some of Case 4’s comes from InFurMation)

German Shepherds are apparently considered especially desirable.  (Say it isn’t so. The thought of old family retainer Grimbald being shanghaied and turned into a stuffed animal!)

One shipment from a Chinese company to the Czech Republic, reportedly for the Czech army, contained 5,329 kilograms (11,924 pounds) of "house cat skin jackets + plates", representing the slaughter of 40,000 to 55,000 cats.  Chinese fur factory told investigators that it had 100,000 cat skins stored in its factory.

Just as, on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog, half the time information sources are undated, so it’s not clear whether there’s still as much dog and cat fur flying around out there. From what I can tell, domestic pet fur is now prohibited in the EU and the U.S. Which is not to say that it’s no longer used, Likely, it’s just passed off as something else. China doesn’t appear to have any regulations against using it – or lying about it.

I don’t want to be too much of hypocrite here. I don’t eat a ton of meat, but I’m by no means a vegetarian. (Vegetarian is at least within the realm of possibility; vegan: never.) I wear leather shoes, and wool sweaters. But I pretty much draw the line at fur. And I don’t want any animals to suffer cruelty in the service of mankind, however mediated my consumption of animal products is by Whole Foods or Zappo. And I find the idea of dogs and cats being kidnapped from their owners and sold off so that someone can have a faux-fox trimmed hood on their parka, or nice and soft golf gloves, completely appalling.

Completely. Appalling.

Consider the Snood: Canine Edition

Why,  just four short years ago, I was considering the snood, which, in November 2009 was being trend-spotted.

Trend-spotted, as we well know, does not always translate into trend-realized. And I don’t believe that the return of the snood ever actually happened. At least not among humans. At least not among the humans I pal with.

But my sister Trish, perhaps doing some early Christmas shopping for her own beloved pooch, came across dog snoods for sale on Etsy.

Not that she would consider a snood for Jack.

He is just so not the snood type, even if we were talking a manly snood, like the one with devil ears, or the one that tries to make your dog look like a fox. Or the unisex snood with the sock monkeys on it.

Or the ultra-macho ‘stache snood.

I’m not sure if the mustache comes with/is attached somehow to the snood, or if this doggy just happens to be a ‘stache man.

As a Black Lab, a mustache –whether real or fake – wouldn’t really show up on Jack, unless it were salt-and-pepper (in which case, he might look quite distinguished).

Anyway, as Trish said, Jack would only be interested in a snood if it were stuffed with cheese or peanut butter.

In any case, Jack, as a Lab, is not the target market for a snood. Even if he were a girly-girl Lab, the ideal customer for the dog snood is a member of a long-eared breed. And the snood is intended to keep those long ears clean while your dog is supping.

Snoods help keep those long ears clean while eating and chewing bones…. If you feed a raw diet to your pup this is a must have. I also use these while my pups are chewing bones or bully sticks. Snoods are a hygienic way to feed your pooch and help keep those long ears looking beautiful!

Just imagine, for years, folks managed to keep spaniels, basset hounds, and Afghans without the benefit of dog snood. What did they do? Shampoo their pups ears after every dinner?

Now, thanks to the dog snood, they just launder the snood after a meal.

I know as well as anyone how much fun it is to anthropomorphize a pet. And there is always the powerful temptation to do things to them and put things on them that make them look cute.

So I’m all in favor of the decorator collars, and even the occasional bandana. Even a doggy coat for inclement weather. And maybe even doggy boots to protect those tender pads against rock salt. And they can be as cutie pie as fits with your dog’s breed and persona. (Dogsona?)

But there are some things that I think are beneath the dignity of most, if not all, dogs, and IMHO the dog snood – however practical (sorta/kinda) – is among them.

Please always keep your pet under supervision while wearing the snood.

Probably because any self-respecting dog would be chewing it off and spitting it out.

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A tip of the snood to Trish for trend-spotting this one. I must start poking around Etsy to see what other peculiar wares are out there.