Home at the Canine Theme Park
Dogtown decor isn't pretty. It isn't shabby chic, either. At its best, my home is a canine theme park, more their sanctuary than mine.
There is no doubt that my home is designed with the dogs in mind, from the paw-print throw on the sofa to the many dog beds here and there.
What started with a few dog-friendly items has metamorphosed into a quaint kennel where people are optional, infrequent visitors. There are dog towel dowels, dog coffee cups (not for the dogs), dog bedsheets, dog curtains and a framed poster - "You can't have too many dogs!". Then there's the famous Andrew Wyeth print - "His Master's Bed" - which, unlike Coolidge's "Friend in Need" , announces that a woman of some taste resides here. Or so I like to muse.
My priorities are clear enough, aren't they? Are they stand-ins for people or just more reliable? Am I one of those odd "animal people" who avoids human companionship in favor of canine time? I wonder about that, especially when I pose the question to Molly, my beagle. The dogs put up with me, which might be sufficient to people who don't.
But most of all, they have a timeless sense of play, of staying in the moment, a quality I badly lack.
Dogs don't care if a life has meaning or purpose beyond joy and nourishment. Play-bows, chasing, running, following, competing, winning, losing, hiding and seeking, dogs just want to play the game. When it's dinner-time, they understand that sustenance matters - sometimes they challenge the status quo and compete with each other, sometimes they just eat. When I walk outside to get the morning paper, they greet me as if hours have passed since I last saw them - or is it just to find out what took me so long?
What started with a few dog-friendly items has metamorphosed into a quaint kennel where people are optional, infrequent visitors. There are dog towel dowels, dog coffee cups (not for the dogs), dog bedsheets, dog curtains and a framed poster - "You can't have too many dogs!". Then there's the famous Andrew Wyeth print - "His Master's Bed" - which, unlike Coolidge's "Friend in Need" , announces that a woman of some taste resides here. Or so I like to muse.
Even the faux fur toilet cover was selected for the dogs' comfort as a sitting perch. Yet no matter how cute the dog-patch shower curtains, dog-face quilt with matching throws, vintage art or Milk-Bone bathrobes, its presence asks "why" and the answer is usually well, why not? What began with a few knick-knacks, a hint of Kitsch, is a bed and bone abode with little room for humans, certainly none who eschew a dog hair or two.
The boundary between obsession and comfort isn't always clear, is it? After all, dogs have been the family members, chorus, friends and background players for over twenty years, always in groups of five or more. I can't imagine having fewer than five dogs - the house would seem empty. Their elder care exceeds human standards, I suppose. One has an oncologist, another sees a cardiologist, most of the older ones have health insurance and I drive a 10 year old car.
My priorities are clear enough, aren't they? Are they stand-ins for people or just more reliable? Am I one of those odd "animal people" who avoids human companionship in favor of canine time? I wonder about that, especially when I pose the question to Molly, my beagle. The dogs put up with me, which might be sufficient to people who don't.
But most of all, they have a timeless sense of play, of staying in the moment, a quality I badly lack.
Dogs don't care if a life has meaning or purpose beyond joy and nourishment. Play-bows, chasing, running, following, competing, winning, losing, hiding and seeking, dogs just want to play the game. When it's dinner-time, they understand that sustenance matters - sometimes they challenge the status quo and compete with each other, sometimes they just eat. When I walk outside to get the morning paper, they greet me as if hours have passed since I last saw them - or is it just to find out what took me so long?
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