The Boston Globe's Wesley Morris goes on a rant about pampered pets, some of whom get "spa days" and massages. And he makes the point that we've been introducing the concept of income inequality to the canine world:
Aren't the wrong dogs being soothed? I'm reasonably certain the ones out aiding the blind, saving the imperiled, or gladdening the lonely aren't getting a deep-tissue rub. It's the sad, quaking, barkless leisure pocket dog, the dog that looks as if it's having a nonstop nervous breakdown. Those dogs don't need yoga. They need a cigarette. Look out for that marketing niche: smoking dogs.
I generally agree with Morris, but I think he overlooks that dating a guy with a rambuctious dog can have its advantages. All I'm saying is that the dog would have eventually knocked that vase off the coffee table if I hadn't, so it's not totally unfair that she got blamed for it.
