The Galia Perspective: Dog Love 8

Yesterday I was walking downtown when I saw two young women coming out of a trendy brewery. They were ahead of me walking at an extremely leisurely pace, both dressed in tight stonewashed jeans with decorated back pockets, short black boots, and white tops. Each was holding a leash to which a small dog was attached. The dogs were of the same breed, same size, and same colors. The women did not engage with the dogs. They were just holding on to the same length leashes as the two little dogs ran around sniffing things.

And then, one of the little dogs lifted a hind leg and pissed on the wall of a jewelry store. The woman holding on to the leash did not notice that the dog stopped to mark the wall. The dog finished squirting his yellow fluid on the grayish wall and resumed trotting behind the woman, leaving a meandering trail of drops on the cement pavement. Then, as the women crossed the small plaza and reached another storefront, which looked like an art gallery, again the dog lifted his hind leg and pissed on the wall. And again, the leash holder did not notice what her little dog was up to.

Although I was by myself, I was left speechless. That dog nearly pissed on my foot, he twice pissed on a wall, left a trail of drops on a pavement in front of me, and his leash holder did not respond. She did not look at the dog once or try to pull him away from the wall and get him near a tree or a bush. And I wondered, what is this supposed to mean? How can these identically dressed women walking with these identically looking dogs be unaware that the leashes they were holding have living, walking things attached to them?

And then it dawned on me. These dogs were just accessories for these women. A part of the outfit. No different from the tight jeans or the short boots. Some people accessorize their persona with jewelry; others with body piercing; some with belts and purses and bows in their hair. And some people accessorize with dogs. Especially little dogs.

The fact that these dogs piss on walls and stop to sniff things, and look for stuff left on the ground means nothing to people like these two women. The dogs are there only as props. To make someone look pretty, or interesting, or fashionable or God knows what. Because if a dog can piss on a wall and you don’t even notice, then what is your role in this dog’s life except for holding on to the leash?

The more I look, the more I see dogs used as accessories, as props rather than companions or protectors or little helpers. Some people would tell you otherwise, but the truth is that dogs are becoming the new accessory.

The other day, an advertisement popped up on my computer for yoga classes with dogs. It announced “The latest fitness trend which aims to help you bond with your pet.”

The first thing that came to my mind when I saw that ad was that yoga already demands a mountain of accessories: mats, straps, blocks, blankets, towels, socks, you name it. And now, dogs, too? Are they going to be used as pillows to support the neck or the knees, I wonder. Or as squishy weights?

And what type of dogs make the ideal yoga accessory? Only small ones that you can lift and balance on your shoulders? Or patient ones that can sit for an hour and watch people twist themselves into strange shapes without barking or growling at each other? Or well-behaved ones who know not to lick your face when you lie down, or sniff your crotch when you contort your legs into lotus pose?

Then I thought, “How do you bond with a dog during yoga, anyway?”

I barely bond with myself at yoga class. I am not that flexible, I can’t do a head stand, I can barely twist my back into the snake pose. When I notice a thin young person who sits with a straight back in front of me without slouching after a minute, or twists her body into all kinds of advanced poses, instead of hating myself I transfer that self-loathing to her. She might be the nicest person in town, but if she can do the one-legged inverted staff pose without blinking while totally ignoring me, I will find it difficult to like her.

So imagine if I were a dog without the social filters and fear of humiliation.

What I am sure of is that the little dog in that ad is probably not the type that would piss on you when you relax into downward dog pose, folding your body into a triangle shape and letting your head hang down until every vertebrae in your back sings in relief. That little white dog knows he’s being watched. He will wait until you finish yoga class and as soon as you walk out, he will piss on the wall of the studio, while you’re still under the influence of Om.

And I would say: You should have seen it coming.