Ugly Dogs : And the Women Who Love Them
PEOPLE can be so cruel. I took my pugs for their morning walk. “Hey, ugly!” yelled a street corner David Letterman, who wasn’t all that attractive himself. I tried to ignore him, but he ran after me. “Your dogs run into a wall?” he asked, laughing uproariously.
Ha ha. I’ve had Bess and Stella for 11 years. And if I had a dollar for every time some would-be wit asked, “Somebody hit them in the head with a shovel?” (or some equally sparkling variation), I could pay my vet bills.
Still, I shouldn’t take offense. My husband assures me that everyone is a dog bigot. “Everyone has his own conception of what a dog is and what a dog should be,” says Duke. “Some of them are just wrong.”
They certainly are. Duke, for example, believes that pugs aren’t “real dogs” because they don’t have snouts. “The dog with the snout looks more doglike,” he insists. “It’s got the sign of dog health--the cold, moist nose--not that mushroom-shaped, leathery knob.”
I happen to like the pug nose. “But a snout allows the dog to really smell the world,” Duke argues. “The pushed-in-nose dog comes into the world with sort of a grudge because it can’t stick its snout into a really beautiful mass of stinking debris and burrow and enjoy.”
People can be so heartless. “Dog discrimination is everywhere,” says Matthew Margolis, co-author of “The Dog in Your Life.” “People who have small dogs don’t like big dogs, and vice versa. And with a lot of people, what they grew up with is what they’re used to. If it was a good dog, they want every dog to be like that. If it was a bad dog, they hate the breed.”
How could anybody hate a pug? “Not everybody likes those liquid sucking sounds they make,” Duke points out. “And they snore.” (So does he.)
My sister explains that many men are dog bigots. “There are very few little dogs that a man feels comfortable walking,” Laurie says. “It’s a macho thing. Men go for dogs over 4 feet tall, the kind who will bring you back dead animals.”
But Laurie admits that she’s a dog bigot, too. “I wouldn’t have one of those bedroom slipper dogs (Shih Tzu, Maltese, Pomeranian, Lhasa apso) under any circumstances,” she declares. “Any dog that you can carry in your pocketbook I find offensive. And as for Chihuahuas, . . . I asked my vet, what kind of dog he’d get. He told me, ‘I’d get a Chihuahua, because when it died, I wouldn’t care.’ ”
Ironically, my sister insists that her basset hound is never the victim of such slurs. “It’s totally impossible for anyone to blatantly say that they don’t like Elvis,” says Laurie. “She looks too sad. Besides, bassets are universally loved because many people grew up with them. They’ve all seen the Hush Puppy ads.”
But you can’t believe those dogs on TV. Those dogs talk, play charades, wear dinner jackets, chase a gravy train or find their way home when they get lost on another continent. And they never seem to stain the carpet.
Recently, Duke and I watched a television special featuring canine heroes. We saw dogs herding flocks of sheep, guiding the handicapped through rush-hour traffic, rescuing earthquake victims and pulling sleds for 11 days across the Arctic tundra.
“You notice all those dogs had snouts?” Duke pointed out smugly. I noticed. And I felt the show sold short the crucial contribution to civilization as we know it of the lap dog. “The pug does keep you warm while you’re reading,” Duke finally conceded.
In a way, I’m lucky to have dogs that aren’t taken seriously. My friend Sabina has a huge German shepherd named Shane. “Most people are scared to death of him,” she reports. “But Shane’s a sweetheart.”
I have yet to meet the owner of an attack dog who didn’t make this claim. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of the world’s great lies, up there with “the check is in the mail.” The dog in question could be chewing on a human skull, and the owner will still insist, “Damien’s really very friendly. He thinks he’s a Yorkie.”
Sabina understands people’s concern. “German shepherds have the reputation for being killer dogs,” she admits. “So people assume that Shane’s going to kill them. I like people assuming that.” Sabina maintains that shepherds are probably the smartest breed.
She’s wrong. “The smartest dog on the scale is the poodle,” claims Steven Abrams, a West Los Angeles veterinarian. “And after that comes the brachycephalic dogs--the short-nose, bulgy-eyed breeds--the Pekingese, boxers, bulldogs and pugs.”
So the pug is smart? “They’re generally highly intelligent,” Abrams says. “I’ve never talked to anyone who said the breed is really stupid.”
Maybe he should talk to my friend Marjorie. She expects a dog to defend her. I think that’s asking a lot from a pet. “It doesn’t have to be trained to attack,” says Marjorie, who owns an extremely protective mutt. “But the dog should growl or bark or chase a threatening person away.”
Really? The only thing my pugs would attack is a pizza. Marjorie is amazed. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t expect protection from a dog,” she says.
Perhaps I should expect more from Bess and Stella. A few months ago, my husband suggested that we take them hiking at Joshua Tree National Monument. But the pug is not a trail dog, I explained. The pug prefers to lounge on the sofa and watch TV. “The real dog loves his owner and wants to please her,” argued Duke.
To my astonishment, the pugs clambered merrily up the trail to Mastodon Peak. “It’s the first time they seem really doglike,” Duke marveled when Bess and Stella, wagging their curly tails and panting furiously, finally reached the summit. He patted them both on the head. “I’m very impressed. Maybe we could grow them some snouts.”
