Welcome to doggie day care!

Young couples no longer have babies; instead, they pick puppies.

San Francisco has more dogs than children. This is not an opinion, but a statement of fact. I have the census figures to prove it; but this little factoid really needs no proof. One would instinctively agree with it, even after a short walk around the city. Dogs are everywhere — they walk proudly along the promenades, meet and greet their peers in the parks, and are proudly held up by their owners in supermarkets to inspect their brand of dog food, or to receive the respectful homage of passers-by. On a rainy day in my own neighbourhood, I saw no less than three fairly large, wet, shaggy dogs inside a grocery store shaking themselves dry next to open containers of macaroni and cheese, while their owners debated whether to have rainbow chard or arugula for dinner.

 

If a Martian were to land on the streets of this city, he could be forgiven for concluding that dogs, served by their abject human slaves, run this place. On any street at any time of day or night, you will see a few felines strutting along, stopping at their leisure to sniff at the odd post or fire hydrant, while their masters trudge along behind them, holding plastic bags and beseeching them for the precious gift of excrement. If the dog does deign to humour its master, then to watch the man coo and grovel as he picks up his prize is to watch humanity at its most pathetic.

The whole city seems to be designed around dogs. There are stores that sell food, clothing and toys for dogs. Dogs have their own hair salons, massage therapists, day care centres, and psychiatrists. There was a time when the only psychiatric treatment a dog needed came from the toe end of a well-aimed boot, but the mere suggestion of such a thing can land you in jail today. Murderers, rapists, swindlers and cheats walk the streets as respected citizens, and even find supporters, while a certain Michael Vick can count himself among the most hated people in the country, because his crime was against dogs, not fellow men. He picked the wrong species, poor fellow!

I used to wonder at the time and money people invest in their dogs, until it struck me one day — dogs are the new children. Young couples no longer have babies; instead they pick out a puppy. A dog is the perfect accessory for the upwardly mobile. Easily trained and groomed, more hygienic than the average teenager, and available in a variety of sizes, colours, and prices to suit any budget or décor. The average human baby seems terribly messy, inconvenient and bothersome by comparison. I was once chatting with a friend as he pushed his newborn son in a stroller while he escorted his dog around the block, and asked him why he had bothered having a baby when he already had a dog. He got a hunted look in his eye, hemmed and hawed for a while, and then muttered something about how a dog could never discover the cure for cancer. We both looked rather dubiously at the baby, the potential cancer cure discoverer, and I was trying to find the right words to voice my scepticism when a sudden cry of delight from my friend alerted me that a doggie bowel movement had arrived. As I watched him fumble for his plastic bag, I discovered a wellspring of pity, the existence of which I hadn’t suspected before, and I held my tongue.

(Papi Menon is a writer and technologist based in San Francisco)