Loose Hair

This is my Scottish terrier, Dudley.

So, I've been getting a lot of flack for writing about such morbid things as the Canadian seal hunt.  Actually, not so much for the bloody topic (which no one seems to want to wake up to), but for not balancing it with something lighter and more humorous.  Abigail wants me to recount one of my tales from the dog run, which I hope will not sound like one of those you-had-to-be-there stories.

Speaking of tales, my vet, or rather Dudley's vet, Tom DeVincentis, has just written a book called Tails of the City: Confessions of a Manhattan Pet Vet.  Caroline Roehm wrote the introduction, and there is a reception and book signing at Rizzoli on the 26th.

Now on to my tale...  Well, you all know only the crazies take their dogs to the run.  I'm always the only non-crazy there... me and whomever I'm there with or talking to.  But everyone else is just nuts.  You never see more fights than you do at the dog run.  You know there are rules at the dog run.  Rules that need to be followed for everyone's comfort and safety - especially mine.  But still there is that freak who insists on bringing his dog's personal favorite toy.  And of course that becomes the toy every other dog wants to play with - especially Dudley, whose favorite dog run game is the "I've just stolen your toy and you can't get it back unless you chase me" challenge.  This of course has lead to my own freakish behavior and arguments when the owner of the toy expects me to return it to his dog.  Over and over again.  Not gonna happen.

So one day my friend Abigail (you know, the one who wants to hear no more about the poor baby seals and their bashed in brains) and her Jack Russell, Tags joined Dudley and me at the dog run.  Tags is a super cute rough-coated, short-legged Jack Russell who was Dudley's best friend when we were neighbors.  They played all the time and knew each other's names.  Tags once came for a sleepover and he was the only one who got any sleep, curled up on my pillow. 

It was a beautiful day - at least that's how I remember it.  Sun shining, blue sky, East River sparkling below... and the endless drone of the 59th Street Bridge traffic.  Truly relaxing.  Abigail and I were sitting on the ledge on the far side of the run - the side farthest away from the seats where all the loons sit, acting crazy, with their dogs gathered 'round.  Another day I'll tell the story of the unkempt "life coach" who brushed her dog and sent its loose hair sailing over the run for all to inhale. 

But this story too has to do with loose dog hair.  Clumps of it in fact, that gather everywhere around the edges of the run.  A lot of it I'm sure is from the life coach's dog.  So there was this woman standing. Pacing.  She was a dirty smoker.  No offense to you smokers, but she was dirty and she was a smoker, so I am calling her a dirty smoker.  And she paced and she stood - entirely too close to us I might add - but we weren't moving because we always stake our territory on the far side of the run, our body language saying, "freaks stay away."  She ignored our signals, intruding with her cigarette.  The cigarette hung from her shriveled liver lips; a long ash threatening to drop on her dog's head. 

The dog was quite a character too it turns out.  Enormous dog, gigantic head, long tail.  And fours legs, each about three inches long.  It wasn't a basset hound, but it must have had some very short-legged breed in its elaborate lineage.  Don't get me wrong.  I love all dogs.  I almost adopted a pit bull mix with a bum leg.  I had a three legged dog growing up and I thought this dog and I were brought together though Timber's divine intervention.  I spent hours getting to know Lil' Pit at The Center for Animal Care and Control on 110th Street.  In fact, I introduced her to Abigail, who was there when the pup went berserk - just for a second.  Just long enough to scare me into my search for Dudley.

So the dirty smoker's dog, with its huge head held just inches from the ground, paced too, right along side her.  But rather than joining her in a cigarette, the dog's vice was loose hair.  As his master inhaled he scooped up clumps of it.  He stepped from one pile to the next, scooping and chewing.  And as he chewed the hair made a crunching sound.  Loud.  Have you ever heard the sound of someone chewing hair?  Crunch crunch.  Step step.  Scoop scoop.

You can imagine Abigail's and my horror.  And anyone who knows me knows I don't easily contain my disgust from showing plainly on my face.  I glared at the woman - actually I glared from the woman to the dog and back, my eyes scolding.  "Don't you see your dog is eating piles of dog hair, you freak?" I imagined myself asking.  I say imagined because I was too intimidated to speak to her.  You see, she stared right back at me.  Blankly.  And she finally flicked that long ash and looked down at her munching dog.  Abigail and I starting laughing - giggling really.  And whispering - of course loudly enough for her to hear.  Is that what one calls passive aggressive?  "Abigail, can you believe that woman is letting her dog eat all that hair?"  "I know.  Is she crazy?"  "Obviously."  Glaring, upper lip curled to the right.  "Do you suppose her dog needs to eat hair for medicinal purposes?"  "Oh Frank, that's ridiculous."  "Do you think she's trying to kill him?"  "Why would she be trying to kill her dog?"  "I don't know.  Maybe she's old and tired and has only enough energy left to lift that cigarette."

Another reason I did not confront the owner is that, as every dog owner knows, there is nothing worse than a doggone know it all about dogs.  Everyone has a suggestion about food, training, grooming etc. etc.  Even about dogs eating dog hair I'm sure.  And I always said I would not become one of those busy bodies - unless someone asked.  She did not ask - like I wanted her to.  I don't remember which of us left first, but we never saw her or her dog at the run again.  I wonder why.

Comments

[Irene]

Sooooo.... Quite the entertaining story....Too bad you didn't have a picture to post with it. I would love to have seen these two 'characters.' (Certainly I mean the 'crazy lady and her dog'... not you and your friend.) Post more of these tidbits!!!

[Abigal Blades]

Thank you Frank. That story still makes me giggle! For the record, I fully support your displays on animal awareness ie the horse drawn carriage story and the seals. I took the survey about the seals and even sent an email on behalf of banning the seal hunt as it is appalling and beyond cruel. I was only commenting that two depressing stories were revealed back to back and that you might want to mix it up which you have done very well. I love the retelling of our day with the dirty smoker and the hair eater! How about a story on Uno, the first beagle to win the Westminster Dog Show?! What a beauty. I will have to pick up Dr. Divencentis' book as Tags is one of his patients.

[Susan]

Frank,
I'm so glad to hear that it is Dudley, not you, that has the vet! Now that is a true.."you had to be there but I still describe it very visually to you" story!
Thanks for making me feel like I was there experiencing it all!

[Michele Kelly]

Frank - great story about the dog run. The hair must have been very dry and brittle to make that crunching sound. When I have more time maybe I can fill some of your readers in about you "acting like you own the dog park" at the New Canaan dog park. Your writing was rather amusing and easy to read. Thanks for the lighter side. How about a movie review - get us ready for the Oscars?

[Karen]

This is a funny story.

I've had some similar experiences with parents and their children...don't GET me started....