Musing -- Dog Rules

If there's one certainty in the nation's capital, besides bad drivers and tasteless food, it is that there are loads of dogs. Dogs are everywhere. Poop's everywhere. There are dog parks, dog markets, dog boutiques, doggy daycare, and a pub down the street once was named the "Foggy Dogg."

I don't know what it is about D.C. that requires a dog. Maybe it's the crime, but that doesn't make sense because the dogs I always see are named Precious and are toted in purses and brought in nice stores. Not exactly the Cujo type.

Well, I don't have a dog. Maybe I want one, maybe I don't. But from what I've observed, there seem to be certain unwritten rules a man must follow if he ever were to consider owning one.

The type of dog a man owns matters much on how old he is? On one hand, once you get past the college years and enter the twenty-somethings, a guy wants the manly dog. That is, the basset hound or the Labrador retriever. You know, the ones you can wrestle around with in the living room and hope they never decide to bite a pound of flesh out of your arm.

At this age, a man does not want the toy dog. It would clash with his image: rugged SUV, tough dog.

Women, on the other hand, the ones desperately searching for a relationship, also want the manly dog to attract the manly owner (and sometimes for protection). Their image: athletic girl, fun dog. If, however, they aren’t searching for the relationship and have accepted their fate of possibly living their days as a spinster, then they just want a cat. The further they resign themselves, the more cats. Lonely women and cats.

But when the guy gets older, now walking with a slight limp and wearing horrible plad, he then wants the toy dog. You see them everywhere. Old men and toy dogs. Old men and cockerspaniels, chitzues, jack russels, you name it.

Old women, on the other hand, just want more cats.