It’s a Dog’s Life Has Evolved Significantly

barry currin, stories of a world gone mad, beaverdamusa.comThe other day, I overheard this exchange in the dairy section at the grocery store:

Woman: Go get some yogurt for the dog.

Man: What kind?

Woman (annoyed): Whatever’s cheapest. He’s a dog.

That little vignette is funny on several levels if you think about it.

First, these people feed yogurt to their dog – which was funnier before Kim told me some people do it to aid in the animal’s digestion.

Second, the man certainly doesn’t take much interest in little Muffy or her digestion, or he would know what kind of yogurt she eats.

Third, by the terse, loud way the woman answered the man’s question, it is obvious she treats Muffy better than she treats him. But then again, she’d already probably had to tell him two or three times which variety of salad dressing the dog likes.

It’s crazy the way we dote over our pets, isn’t it.

My mother-in-law’s cat once underwent cataract surgery. I’m not sure how she knew the surgery was necessary. I guess she noticed a problem when the cat lost interest in working the crosswords.

In my house, we’re nearly as bad. Our cat — who hates everyone and everything except for me for some strange reason – sits in the foyer of our house and meows until someone escorts her down the hall to her food bowl. I am convinced she would starve to death sitting there waiting for someone to walk with her.

Then, when she gets to her food, she slowly circles it, steps up on the bathroom scale next to the bowl and eats. I’m not sure why she feels the need to launch a sneak attack on her food.

Her reluctance to go down the hall has gotten to the point that when we go out of town overnight, we put food in the foyer just so she’ll eat while we’re gone.

None of these pet stories, however, can match the absurdity of something I saw on television recently.

The TV was on one of those shopping networks. I’ve had fun at these shows’ expense before. I marvel at the way the host can spend 3 hours describing a can opener.

This particular day, though, the host was pitching a tap water filtering machine for your kitchen.

Now, I realize the whole Flint, Mich., situation has put tap water in the news, but I still believe I can partake in a swig or two without feeling like I’m poking an alligator between the eyes with a short stick.

The host went on and on about why we need it, stopping just short of having a World War II air raid siren going off in the background while he told how we all were going to die from drinking unfiltered, poisonous tap water.

Then he got weird. He said, “And you certainly don’t want to feed tap water to your pets, with all the chlorine and other contaminants.”

This guy obviously doesn’t have pets.

Our cat drinks from the pool. She drinks from puddles (back when we used to have puddles). She drinks from a bowl we keep on the deck that usually has a flying insect or two floating in it.

Sometimes she drinks from the dogs’ bowl – which is a different proposition altogether because heaven only knows what the dogs have managed to transfer into their water considering they will eat, sniff or lick anything – and by that I mean positively anything.

I’m a responsible pet owner, but then again, I try to keep things in perspective.

Yes, I escort my cat to her food bowl. But I will never filter her water.

If she stops doing the crosswords, though, I would probably have to intervene. Finest Craft Beers from America’s Best Micro Breweries- 728x90 banner