Gone to the dogs

Michael Vick is where you draw the line? “Pacman” Jones is allegedly slamming strippers’ heads into the side of the stage, other athletes have been accused of domestic violence -- a few of murder -- but the guy who allegedly ran a dog-fighting ring gets a three-month public outcry? Are dogs more precious than women? Women who are strippers?

I understand that torturing animals, forcing them to fight and killing the losers isn’t OK. Neither is keeping animals in minuscule pens where they live in the suffocating stink of their own feces and then chopping them up for bacon. Yes, I know you think dogs and horses are totally different from pigs and chickens, and also that unicorns and Hello Kitty and David Cassidy are superawesomedreamy too, but at some point you have to move on to a morality that doesn’t revolve around glittery stickers.

The mass public shaming of the Atlanta Falcons’ quarterback, who was indicted by the feds for running a dog-fighting league called the Bad Newz Kennels, has been way out of proportion. If social convention permits us to still root for Kobe Bryant, then maybe it’s fair just to put Vick in some serious counseling if he promises to buy a pit bull a really enormous diamond ring.

Americans get completely irrational about dogs. Last month, crazy dog-show people blocked a state measure to force spaying and neutering of non-show dogs, proving not only that dog owners are NRA-crazy, but that, unbeknown to anyone, Bob Barker’s power has limits. Last week, instead of daring to do the rational thing -- outlaw pit bull breeding -- the Los Angeles City Council decided to move forward with a plan to hire prison parolees to train the pit bulls that account for 40% of the dogs put down in L.A. shelters. I wonder if the council is also considering a plan to get ex-cons to run the toys-for-guns program.

I can’t respect animals that prefer affection from a different species over their own kind. A man who shuns women to stare plaintively at cows and nuzzle up against them is called something less flattering than a “cow’s best friend.”

It’s not that I hate dogs. I used to believe that I hated dogs. But now I realize that I’m apathetic about dogs, as I am about any animal that is not delicious. Dogs to me are a lot like flounder.

What I’ve come to realize is that what I really hate is you, the dog owner. Because you’re the one who honestly believes that your dog is sentient and that he loves you. Your ego is so grandiose that you can’t see that your dog is just using you. Yes, your dog loves you, but only in the way that Anna Nicole Smith loved old, rich men. Yet you honestly believe that your dog’s love is particularly meaningful because your dog is special -- almost human, really. In fact, you think, he’s an almost-human that happens to be a lot like you. He is a lot like you if you happen to assess colleagues by smelling their butts and enjoy publicly eating your own vomit.

While we’ve been shunning smokers because they annoy the rest of us, we keep inviting dog owners to terrorize us in new places. JetBlue lets you sit with an uncaged “companion dog,” or, as I call it, a “reason to fly Southwest.” Starwood Hotels include a whole page of dog items on their room service menu. Maybe I’m squeamish, but I don’t like to order from kitchens that, alongside my eggs, are chopping up items referred to as kibbles or bits. And unless you run some sort of international fetching conglomerate, there’s no reason to have dogs running around your office.

I agree with the members of People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals on only two things: that pranks should be pulled on rich old ladies in fur coats and that people shouldn’t own pets. So I have a plan that I’m hoping they’ll help me with, because they seem to have a lot of free time and access to their spokeswoman, Pam Anderson. Like the retirement communities that don’t permit families with children, I want to build a town where animals aren’t allowed. The streets will be poopless, the nights barkless, the legs unchafed from humping. And Pam Anderson will live in this dog-less town. I’m not sure how this will help, but I think having Pam around will be fun. She’s the only one who might be willing to wear all those unused tiny dog sweaters.

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jstein@latimescolumnists.com