CSotD: You’ll never look at Almond Roca the same way again
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Frazz may have crossed another line today, but it cracked me up. I spend a lot of time around people who do seem to think their dogs need little treats shaped and colored like T-bone steaks, and who put them on expensive diets because they are convinced their pooches are gluten-sensitive.
Mind you, Vaska's buddies do not fall into this category. In fact, the big issue this summer has been his best friend Bogey's predilection for finding — and consuming — vintage sashimi along the banks of the Connecticut River. Laughter is a gift, even horrified laughter and especially horrified laughter you are trying to suppress while helping Bogey's owner attempt (unsuccessfully) to cancel the banquet.
Bogey is a generous giver.
Dog behavior in comics has been much more realistically depicted since Mike Peters had Grimm drink out of the toilet and created a new meme for cartoonists to riff on. Butt-sniffing and leg-humping have also become fairly common in the comics, and, of course, for decades, 90 percent of fire hydrants seen in comic strips have been there to receive, not dispense.
And now, litter-box snacking has come out of the closet. So to speak.
When I had a cat, the litterbox was actually kept in the furnace room, with a baby-gate that kept the dogs out but was, of course, no obstacle for the cat.
The horrors of your dog enjoying a bit of Almond Roca from the cat box now and then is a city issue, however, dwarfed and I daresay even eclipsed by what is apt to happen out here in the country when someone decides to ride their horse down your favorite hiking trail.
Horseriders hereabouts do not carry plastic bags.
As for dogowners hereabouts, we scoop poop when it's on a groomed surface and ignore it if the dog has gone off into the brush. If the dog goes on a groomed surface within three feet of the brush, we use the Pelé method to correct his placement — sort of the opposite of what golfers are known to do, and with the same furtive glance to see if anyone is watching.
But I did see someone shin-deep in the White River, attempting to scoop what their dog had deposited there, which was pretty amusing considering how hard it is to scoop something out of water with a plastic bag to begin with, never mind chasing it downstream at the same time. And, no, it doesn't float. It drifts.
Back in town, however, I am a very strict supporter of pooper-scooper laws, in part because I happen to agree that poop on the sidewalks and in the parks is unpleasant and in large part because those who don't scoop give the busybodies a bit of totally unneeded leverage over all of us who own dogs.
You can tell the communities where the blue-noses have achieved that leverage because they can't just post a sign saying, "Please clean up after your dog – it's the law!" but have to add a snotty little sermonette.
It's like smoking indoors. People who are going to scoop will scoop, people who aren't going to scoop won't scoop. Make a law, write some tickets. But nagging only adds to the unpleasantness without making the slightest difference in the rate of compliance.
Especially when it is hypocritical.
In the case of this particular sign, there was an infestation of crows in the same park last fall. Huge flocks perched in the trees and the walkways were an eighth of an inch deep in bird feces. Now, you'd think that the city of Lebanon, having demonstrated its fastidious fear of dog poop, would go totally ET on the place, cordon off the area, tent the park, bring in the HazMat team …
… or maybe that they'd just ignore it and hope for rain.
Then this spring, somebody raised a ruckus about dogs in the cemetery. I'm not talking about people letting their dogs run in the cemetery, but people walking on the gravel path, dog on leash, going from one part of town to another.
Fortunately, it only provoked some hemming and hawing on the part of the city council and a story in the paper, because that's a pleasant, quiet shortcut to the grocery store that avoids about the only busy part of the entire town, and it's a nice little walk. And, of course, you have your plastic bag in your pocket — doesn't everybody?
I was glad nothing came of it, because, not only is it an enjoyable shortcut, but, if dogs were banned, I'd have never come across this stunningly unlikely combination of name and symbol.
(Yes, I know the symbol in this case doesn't mean that. Why? Did you think it was really him under there?)
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