URBAN JUNGLE : Animal House

When we were young and still full of promise, my brother and I lobbied the parental units long and hard for a doghouse. A legitimate request--we did indeed have the requisite dog, two in fact. But the ‘rentals, impervious to sulkings, sobbings and other alliterative methods of manipulation, demurred on the grounds that they, the dogs that is, were perfectly happy with the house they already had--the 3 bdr, 2 bath, stone frpl. w/porch that our pets graciously let us share.

Bottom line, our request had nothing whatsoever to do with those dogs--my brother and I wanted that house for ourselves. The treehouse had been abandoned after one of us (guess which) fell out of it, and we needed a place to. . . I could say “hide” but I think I’ll settle for “entertain.” It sounds so much healthier.

Twenty years, five domiciles and $19,753 in therapist bills later, I am proud to say I rarely even think of doghouses, and when I do it is with a suitably amused detachment. Or at least it was, until I stumbled into the Pacific Design Center to check out “Cool Dogs: Hot Digs.” I was eager to discover what crime an exhibit had to commit to deserve such a title.

Only be the grooviest exhibit ever, that’s all. Thirty (count them) pet sanctuaries created by local architects, landscapers and interior designers (some of whom clearly have a little too much time on their hands--it’s gotta take weeks to stucco an entire doghouse in birdseed and kibble.) Fortunately, they didn’t have to start completely from scratch--P.A.W.S. (Pets Are Wonderful Support), the brains and beneficiary behind the exhibit, sent the PDC 50 pre-assembled doghouses which were parceled out to such artistes as Antoine Predock, Frank Israel, Nancy Goslee Powers, Steve Johnson and James Favaro. What came back was a veritable canine global village--there’s a tiki hut, a library, two chapels, a fire station, a miniature PDC, even a Zen-like decontructionist item complete with no walls and real grass.

And amazingly enough, these fabulous objects are available to the consumer public. The houses will be auctioned off on April 18, so it is fortunate that I had invited Asta, my terrier-mutt-about-town, to join me on this jaunt--what could be a better gift for my true blue, best buddy of the past eight years?

Just about anything, it would seem. Oh, it’s not that she didn’t appreciate the craftsmanship and vision that went into these structures--she was very effusive in her praise for those artists who chose to work in Milk Bone and biscuit--but somehow, the houses themselves just didn’t speak to her. Not the little Scottie love nest, with its cozy plaid pillows, not the stately alabaster mansion, not even the black tile and gold lame West Hollywood bachelor pad. After sniffing each and every one, she turned to me with the air of a Sotheby’s buyer in a Westside consignment store--”some interesting pieces, my dear, but nothing, I’m afraid, that will do.”

I mean, really. This is a dog born and bred in Tennessee, Knoxville, Tennessee, fercryingoutloud. If only one of the participants had thought to re-create a tiny mobile home with a satellite dish and those whirling plastic sunflowers, some frayed-in-the-seat lawn chairs and maybe a couple of rusted-out Novas on blocks in the front yard. . . .

As it was, Asta shrugged, rolled her eyes and waited patiently to be taken home--to the 1bdr, 1 bath, hdwd flrs, w/fml dng rm that she allows me to share. When she isn’t entertaining.