Humor

Canine Codependency By Jan King

When I was younger, we believed that the first sign of mental illness was when people began dressing up their pets. And if this standard still holds true today, then our entire nation is certifiably nuts! Nobody can deny that our society is obsessed with coddling, cooing, and co-depending our pets, especially our dogs. And what’s more, this behavior isn’t just limited to the empty nesters, either. That I could understand. You’re lonely, you’re bored, and the next thing you know, you’re cross-dressing your pooch—what’s the harm?

But now this doggie mania crosses the sanity spectrum to acts like creating Facebook pages for dogs, enrolling our pooches in doggie daycare, indulging in doggie grooming salons where toenail painting and elaborate coiffing happen, and regular visits to doggie spas to rest their precious paws on Serta perfect sleeper doggy beds. Good grief! A dog just isn’t allowed to be a regular dog anymore. Now, they’re all divas. What the heck has come over dog owners these days? How many lunches or dinners can a person endure where crazed Doggie Mamas have to rush off after 15 minutes, because Fifi is home alone experiencing extreme separation anxiety? Wasn’t it just a few years ago that we would leave our kids home alone for hours with no human companionship but an X Box? And, what about the doggie vets who are magically becoming fat cats stuffing their tills with booty from everything from doggie downers and puppy uppers to hundred dollar flea and tick collars, doggie dental cleanings, cataract surgeries, and multi-thousand dollar chemotherapies? Not to mention the organ transplants that go for $20 grand. What’s next? Black markets for poochie pancreases? It’s like the dogs are getting better healthcare (but not affordable) than any human I know of, dead or alive. Case in point: I know a woman whose husband and dog were gravely ill at the same time, and in her haste to give her beloved his medication she inadvertently stepped on the other’s oxygen hose for 5 minutes. Luckily, her beloved recovered, but her husband—that was another story. Give me a break. For years we had to listen to women who droned on for hours about every facet of their kids’ life from their potty-training, to how perfectly they behaved in public, to how exceptionally brilliant they were, and especially how unconditionally their kids love was for them. I don’t know about you, but after ten minutes I wanted to kill myself if I wasn’t already dead from boredom. And now, I certainly don’t want to hear the same torturous stories all over again, but this time about their dogs. So now that I’ve set everybody straight on this nutty dog obsession, excuse me but I’m outta’ here. I left Grumpy Cat by himself for over an hour, and I’m sure he’s having an anxiety attack. v