I’m being discriminated against and I don’t like it. Not one bit. And it’s not because of my skin color or my religion or my gender. It’s because of my dog. My sweet (not so little) rescue Hound/Lab/Boxer/1/18 Pitt mix that the friendly neighbors from my alleged friendly neighborhood seem to read as 100 percent Pitt Bull.
Okay, he’s a little affectionate. Likes to jump. Enjoys UPS men and anyone else who’s in view. Goes gaga for squirrels or birds. He’s bulky. He’s clunky. He’s not refined. And he’s definitely not a designer Schnikerdoodle or Doodlepoodle or Guccipoo. Trouble is, I’m surrounded by designer Guccipoodles and Schnookiedoodles and the likes of any poodle cross-breed that my high maintenance neighbors paid thousands of dollars for and don’t want anywhere near my unsophisticated Mutt.
Please don’t get me wrong. I love your Snickerdoodles. They’re very sweet. And it’s super cute how you have their leashes and bows match your leather handbags. But if I put my dog in coordinating leashes with matching bows I’d be arrested by the Mutt police because he’d look like a complete idiot. But then would you let us play with you?
Look, my dog may be big and bulky but he’s no bully. I promise. So please stop grabbing your pooch and running like mad the second you see us. We’re working on the jumping. And the pulling. And the humping. Don’t worry, the last thing I want is for him to impregnate your Guccidoodle. Because then we’d have a Gucciboxerlabpittdoodle mix. And that’s freaking weird.
So let’s just call a truce. I won’t make fun of your dinner and you won’t run away from my dog. You go have your cappuccino and a piece of lettuce with Precious. And I’ll go have my perfectly seared skirt steak and potato wedges with Quincy.