The Westminister Dog Show

A friend said he's going in February and invited me to join him. This is my answer:


Bless your heart, Tom, but I don't like dog shows. Can't stand to see chunky women with big calves wearing short skirts and trotting way too fast around a ring with their over-groomed dogs who, frankly, look gay. (Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

When I first got Buddy 9 years ago he'd been owned by a hairdresser and had a blue bow on top of his manly little head, with hair spouting out of it like an insane fountain. The fur on his back fell to the ground like Oscar Wilde's cape. As soon as his owner was safely out of the apartment I stood him on the dining room table and chopped off most of that offensive 'Do' until he looked right, like Oscar in the garbage can from Sesame Street.

He never stopped thanking me for that.

He always attacked every dog he ever saw and did it with his head held high, which he never could have done with that blue bow. And if anybody laughed because he was tiny, he pretty much signaled to them that they could kiss his fine little ass. I had his back on that every time.