:: Wrong Way, Little Dog ::

So this is the top sidebar picture that greeted me on my Yahoo! homepage this morning.

For the life of me, I couldn't tell what it was until I clicked on it, and opened it larger. My initial guess when it was a tiny thumbnail picture, no lie: A wildebeest giving birth. Even when I opened it and could tell it was a Yorkie dog, I still thought, "What animal is that giving birth to a full-sized Yorkie?" I just couldn't tell what the hell was wrapped around the Yorkie's head - I mean, a Yorkie in a mink coat really was the last thing on my mind.

Of course, from the Yorkie's perspective, it could be quite the badge of honor: Bred as ratters, bagging a mink would have been quite the accomplishment. Sort of in the same way pagan kings used to wear lion skins as a symbol of their power, I guess.

Anyway, this sort of thing is what gives little dogs a bad rap. Why would anyone stuff their dog's ass into a handbag or dress it up in a fur coat (and this is the part that gets me) and then choose to go outside to show it off? To me, this is the sort of thing you do after a couple of cocktails in the privacy of your own home. Maybe you have a little photo shoot, keep the pictures for a good laugh, use them as blackmail leverage against your dog... But then, I actually like dogs, and I have a big enough ego that it doesn't require a living accessory in order to get attention in public. (Thank goodness for THAT, Makenna, huh?)

I also don't buy into the cool-guy (or girl) declaration that "small dogs suck." I actually like Yorkies. My family's always had Yorkies, not the teacup size you see here, but the heartier, more kid-durable version with some meat on their bones. They're good dogs, not all shaky and inbred like the neurotic freaks you see Paris Hilton-esque idiots and diamon-encrusted old ladies sporting around Sak's. Quite the contrary. They're talented hunters who will regularly drop small carcasses on your living room floor, tail wagging: "Look what I brought you! See how I love you?!"

That is if you actually let the dog go outside. You know. Not stuck on the 25th floor of some Manhattan highrise?

My rules for dog ownership:

1. If your dog's paws have only touched carpet and have never felt grass or good, soft earth, you need to give it up.

2. If you've never personally felt the time-honored shame of every owner and picked up your own dog's poop with people watching - then you need to give it up.

3. If you regularly dress your dog in little outfits and go outside to show them off - or carry your dog around in your purse when you go shopping - then you need to give it up.

4. If your dog's name is any of the following: Fifi, Lulu, Peanut, Poopsie, Woogums, Gigi, Sugar, Snuggles or starts with "Miss" "Mr." or "Sir" anything. Give. It. Up.

Frankly, a violation of any of these four rules means your dog needs an owner that gives a damn. An owner that knows dogs, likes dogs, and doesn't spend his or her time trying to transform the dog from dog to human.

The way I see it, we've got enough of those already.