Death of an Unpopular Poet

There is a secret that some people must carry around, knowing that its exposure at the wrong moment would bring certain censure and outcast status. I am about to reveal this secret, which I carry.

I hate dogs.

See, I bet some people have stopped reading me already and have reported me to the Blogger people so that I can be rounded up and taken away. Perhaps some of you, though, have a flicker of recognition, and realize I can be trusted.

I don't mean I hate dogs the way someone like Michael Vick does. Dogs are fine in principle as long as they are nowhere near me. I don't really like this cultural custom that every time a person sees a dog, they stop and pet it. We don't go around and touch humans just cause they're there. But, you're like the meanest person in the world if you don't touch dogs in your vicinty, and you're a downright ogre if you object to a dog who wants to get all up in your crotch.

This is something I've known about myself for almost all my life. But Seattle really highlights this, because Seattle might as well just change its name to Dog City. People don't have children or friends, they have dogs. Dogs are not people in clothing, but you wouldn't know that in Seattle. I present this article as evidence: http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/living/2003168225_dogs02.html

Perhaps you think that's an exaggeration, but it's not. I know people who could have very easily been in that article. I have heard honest conversations about which doggie day spa is the best and this week I learned there is such a thing as a pet first aid class. Once I heard someone say they would save their dog before they saved their spouse. I'm sorry, but that's just a social disease.

Anyways, the whole reason I have put my secret out there is to discuss one exception to the rule. You might think, that hating dogs the way I do, that I would be offended by this week's story of Leona Helmsley leaving her dog $12 million, while two of her grandchildren got nothing (http://biz.yahoo.com/ap/070829/helmsley_s_pooch.html?.v=1). Well, I actually LOVE this story. It appeals to my petty side, because there's nothing better than truly getting to grind your high heel in the eye of the person who has pissed you off, and there's no better way to do that than leaving $12 mil to a dog.

Also, I just like the imagery of animals leading opulent lives. I like Fancy Feast commercials where the cat eats off a crystal plate. There is a Jimmy Buffett song from the 1970's that I love called "Death of an Unpopular Poet." This song, as you might guess from the title, starts with the death of a penniless poet. After death, his poems start to get famous. His brother goes on a talk show, even though we learn they never got along. Everyone wants a piece of the poet, but as it turns out:

He left all of his royalties
To Spooner, his ol' hound
Growin' old on steak and bacon
In a doghouse ten feet round
And everybody wonders
Did he really lose his mind?
No, he was just a poet who lived before his time

(imagine it sung very mournfully)

It's hard to tell where a dog passes that line between being a complete nuisance to me and being completely adorable because it's so rich. I think around $1 million. Just goes to show, the rich are better than the poor!