Perhaps I should have thrown the dog a little higher.

The dog lovers are heard from. They wrote, they telephoned, they shouted, they cursed and they foamed at the mouth. One woman somehow extrapolated my column on people who eat dogs into the belief that I was advocating cannibalism. A dog in the pot along with the fat lady down the street.

Another wrote in what I assume was intended to be outrage: “Maybe you’d like to get the government to put dogs on the list for food stamps!” Hey . . .

A third: “Do you have children? Do you have pets? Would you like them to end up on someone’s dinner plate?” To quote Jack Benny, I’m thinking, I’m thinking.

But seriously, folks.

I don’t advocate eating dogs. The dog has been man’s best friend for 10,000 years. That’s 10,000 years of barking all night, of urinating on the rug, of tearing up feather-stuffed pillows and of biting the neighbor’s children.

To quote W. C. Fields, “The advantages of whiskey over a dog as a companion are legion. To begin with, whiskey does not need to be periodically wormed.”

Nevertheless, I do understand that dogs are loyal, friendly, cuddly and no doubt of liberal persuasion. They warn off intruders, kill America’s enemies, plow through snow, sniff out dope, fetch the newspaper and sit by their master’s grave after the master has, as they used to say, gone to his reward. Not too bright, but then what the hell.

God save the dog. The turkey is on his own.

The uproar resulted from a column two weeks ago in which I reported that animalist Barbara Toth was enraged over the possibility that some Asian immigrants in Canoga Park might be turning strays into dog foo-young.

Certain readers took my comments to mean that I was encouraging others to give dogs a try. Not so. While I may have eaten dog once, it was under the stress of war. My life was in the balance. Not from gunfire but from C-ration hash. One more can and my stomach was a gonner.

The column simply pointed out that people do eat dogs as part of their cultural tradition. I suggested that the practice should not create a problem, since there are roughly 30 million dogs in the United States. Plenty to go around.

I considered the piece rather restrained, actually, remaining silent on the rumor that there are cook books specifically aimed at the preparation of dogs. I probably would have pursued the matter, but I didn’t know whether to ask at a bookstore or a pet shop.

A caller who saw no humor in my comment demanded that I issue a public apology to anyone who has ever owned a dog. He made some good points, so consider it done. I also apologize to anyone who has ever owned a chicken.

In America, we eat almost every damned animal we can get our hands on. Easter bunnies, li’l duckies, baby sheep, peeping chickees, big-eyed Bambi and the three little pigs.

We dine on calves’ brains and goose livers at the finest parties in the Valley and mourn the plight of those who have never savored the legs chopped off of frogs.

The feet of pig, the tongue of cow, the fin of shark, the egg of bird and how many here know what a prairie oyster is? Ask a cowboy.

Even a snail shudders when a French chef calls.

But because Asians eat dogs, we either fall to our knees in tears or march in the streets in rage. The ironies in our horror are too great to ignore. Our plates, too, are piled high with the flesh of once-living creatures. They just didn’t happen to bark.

I don’t care what Asians eat. I don’t care what anyone eats. I don’t believe they ought to eat their neighbor’s dog, but then I don’t believe you ought to eat your neighbor’s pig. Get your own pig. Property rights are sacred in America.

As for killing dogs to eat them, it’s probably not the best thing to do, but I’m sure calves don’t give up their brains willingly either.

Bob Hope told a joke on stage once: “Two duck hunters weren’t having much luck, so one says to the other, ‘Maybe we ought to throw the dog a little higher.’ ”

Only half the audience laughed. Hope paused for a microbeat then added: “Maybe I ought to throw the dog a little higher.”

In that sense, perhaps I should have thrown the dog a little higher in that column two weeks ago. What some found funny, others found offensive. God knows, I don’t want to offend.

To make amends, I am suggesting a gathering of all the best columnists in the world to write pro-dog columns simultaneously in London and Philadelphia and that all proceeds go toward educating those whose diets include anything that fetches or rolls over.

I hope this ends once and for all any false notion that I advocate the eating of dogs. I don’t.

I do, however, advocate the eating of California condors.