August 03, 2005



Molly says we live in a doggist country, but I'm not sure. After all, most people I meet say some of their best friends are dogs. But Molly says to just look around me. Every you go, she says, there are signs saying "no dogs" this and "no pets" that. No dogs allowed in restaurants, in theaters, in stores, in office buildings. "They treat dogs like animals," she says. (I say nothing.) And then she says things are different in some place she calls France, which is apparently some kind of Doggy Promised Land, except for all the pooh on the streets.

She says maybe we should move to Chicago or Vancouver or Boston, which somebody says are the dog-friendliest cities in North America. But, me, I don't think dogs live in cities at all. Only humans do. I think dogs just live in places, which may or may not be in cities. Like my back yard, for instance, where there's often a possom in the tree with a hole in it. Also in my backyard: lots of seldom-seen and often-sniffed rats that scurry around in the two trees that poop big yellow and green fruits that fall on the ground and form fly clouds. Molly calls those mangoes. They're like dog pooh in France, except right in my yard.

There's lots of things to know along the sidewalk in front of the house, too. Like all the bushes and trees and curbs and hard road holes from which those mysterious racoony animals ascend in the twilight. (They make my fur stand up.) So, I guess I want human cities to be less doggist, like Molly says. But mostly I just want to be free to answer my pee-mail around the neighborhood.

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