King Pup's NYC Blog Dog

Watson being, of course, one half of the famed egg-headed duo James Watson and Francis Crick - the chirpy English geezers who unlocked the secrets of life through their discovery of the structure of deoxyribonucleic acid, or “DNA” for those with tight schedules.

They would have literally exploded with pride had they known, all those years ago, that their earth-shattering discovery would eventually be put to use, not in the creation of revolutionary new medicines through genetic engineering, or the identification of gene mutants which lead to disease inheritance, or in the piecing together of an evolutionary jigsaw which has helped mankind better understand our origins, our relationship to other animals and ultimately, our future - no, the intrepid pair would have felt an uncontrollable surge of pride had they known that one day, not too far into the future, their discovery would be used to work out which dog done what poop.

Authorities in Petah Tikva, a town near Tel Aviv, have been compiling a DNA database of dog’s eggs so that should someone have to spend half the day scraping the offending bête noire out of the intricate tread of their hip new sneakers, the nefarious hound what done it can be hauled up before Judge Poo-dy in record time.

Of course the only dogs who need be worried are those who are actually ashamed of their sidewalk chef-d’œuvres. In my case, no DNA identification is required. Those familiar with the streets of New York City will know what I’m talking about. Just look out for the little yellow flags which read “Property of Bob”. I have no shame.

Filed under: Attaboy, Bad Dogs, Dog Science, Harebrained Humans, Pooch Predicaments by Bob
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It’s a little late in coming, but hotels are finally getting wise to the fact that dogs have disposable income to spend and are more than willing to dispose of that income within the high-end hotel and leisure industry.

For decades, dogs who regularly travel on business or simply for pleasure have been saddled with two less-than-savory choices: either book into the nearest kennels, or face a gruelling night in the local Motel 6. In light of this, many dogs choose not to travel at all.

With the economy currently teetering on the brink, many were surprised that the simultaneously predicted kibble-crunch never came. Dogs are sitting pretty and hotel owners can no longer afford to turn their noses up at guests who, admittedly, shed hair all over the place and have a somewhat squalid approach to “tipping” (my apologies to the maid who stepped in my tip at the Marriot last month).

If I have one gripe however, it’s the welcome Milk Bone they put on your pillow. It just seems so cheap and pointless. At $150 a night, they can’t stretch to a lamb chop?

Filed under: The Lap of Luxury by Bob
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Dogs are being tortured for sport in this country - with the approval and encouragement of the mainstream media. Observe, as proof, this depraved article in The Daily Courier of Arizona yesterday.

Apparently it’s not enough that we should have the abhorrent atrocity of soap-contaminated bathing forced upon us - we should also, according to the article, be “treated like small children” in the process. Here’s what’s wrong with that. Kids love baths.

While dogs love their rubber duckies and are prepared to swallow them whole to defend them, we don’t use them as ceremonial artifacts to celebrate the ritual scouring away of our God-given stenches like kids do.

For children, bathtime is a joyous affair filled with laughing, splashing and the jocular blowing of underwater bubbles. It’s about scraping their soap-filled hair up into mohicans and dunking their dollies. It’s about clockwork frogs and squeezy elephants that squirt water through their trunks.

For dogs, bathtime means a terrifying journey through the Canine Circles of Hell - the swamp-like water of the river Styx, the boiling soapy hell of Phlegethon, the tearing claws of Harpies. When was the last time you saw a dog willingly lower her puppies into a tub of warm suds? It’s unthinkable.

There is only one, I repeat ONE circumstance in which I will willingly immerse myself in water and that is to retrieve an attractive looking stick.

We are NOT children, we do NOT enjoy bathtime, soap does NOTHING to increase our quality of life and it’s about time this soaking, sodden, soggy suffering was put an end to. I wouldn’t mind so much if cats were getting baths too but they’re NOT.

Filed under: Dog Bravery, Dog Health, Pooch Predicaments by Bob
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It’s official - your human food is low grade junk and is not fit to pass through the superior gut of a dog. We did not evolve to eat the bacon, pasta, bagels, chocolate or Ritz Cheese Crackers that humans inexplicably cram into their funnels on a daily basis.

See, you humans are like train furnaces. You can shovel any old crap in there and get away with it. Dogs, however, are like Lear jets. You can’t just fill them up with peanuts and pretzels and expect them to get you to Rio and back.

Says Sherry Woodward, an animal behavior consultant for Best Friends Animal Shelter:

…human food has fat, grease and spices and these things can cause dogs to have upset stomachs, bloating and gas.

In other words, human foods cause dogs to develop human traits. Sometimes I take the elevator in my building and it’s like a frog’s chorus in there. Belching, farting - you name it. It’s hardly surprising, given the shrink-wrapped pig swill and the frozen rat’s droppings you call “dinner”.

The only thing I disagree with in that article is the alcohol - I enjoy a small glass of red wine with my kibble in the evening and I’m sure millions of other dogs do too. But we drink responsibly. When was the last time you saw a dog chained naked to a lamppost with “slap me, I deserve it” written on his chest?

Filed under: Dog Health, Harebrained Humans by Bob
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Further to my earlier post on the wimpification of dogs, a subject which I feel very strongly about, I would like to draw your attention if I may to the latest atrocity in this conspiracy.

Another dog tournament is afoot, in Howell, Michigan - and this time the winning ribbons are being allocated for such feats as having the “longest tail” and the “best costume”. No doubt there will also be prizes for having the fluffiest ears, the softest whiskers and the most heartbreakingly adorable whimper.

Additional events include “Tic-Tac-Paw” (stupid), musical chairs (asinine), the “bone dog relay” (pointless) and I presume anything else they can think of which makes a mockery of hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. Lassie will be spinning in her grave and I do not blame her one little bit. It’s time we fought back against the tide of political correctness and the doctrine which says “we’re all winners”. We’re not all winners. We weren’t all created equally. I can jump higher than any damn teacup Yorkie and it’s about time there was a competition which allowed me the glory of proving it.

If things carry on the way they are it won’t be long before there’s not a dog fit enough to guard a doll’s house, let alone a scrapyard or a factory.

The worst part of it is that cats everywhere are laughing it up and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

Filed under: From Dogs To Mice, Lassie Grave Spinning by Bob
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The O’Sullivan puppies of Lanford, IL came under fire again Tuesday as neighbor Ralph Peterson asked them once more to mind their own damn business.

The meddlesome litter, who are rarely seen attending to their own affairs, peered over Peterson’s fence for the last damn time as he attended to various chores in his yard - the nature of which were of no concern to anyone else but him, according to reports.

“If I have to come over there, I swear, I’ll have your paws for garters,” a visibly livid Peterson fumed, a small hint of white foam beginning to form on the left side of his bottom lip. “Why the hell do you think there’s a fence? Think, dogs, think,” the long-suffering construction foreman suggested, prodding his right temple with his index and middle fingers in rhythm as he spoke.

No response was forthcoming from the pups, whose eyes followed Peterson in unison as he paced up and down during his blistering rant - an almost daily occurrence, according to wife Kitty who spoke to us on condition of anonymity. “I think they’re kinda cute,” the 45 year old dental assistant confided, “and you have to be impressed, I mean that fence is 7ft tall. What the hell are they even standing on?”

Local officer Maurice Powell told us that he’s been called to the Peterson house on numerous occasions to deal with issues of privacy invasion - and it’s not just the O’Sullivan pups taking the flack. “He called us last April to report a duck up a tree with some binoculars,” Powell explained. “I really think he believes the neighborhood animals are out to get him.”

Filed under: Bad Dogs, Harebrained Humans, Wackos by Bob
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Dogs the world over received a mortal blow today with the announcement of a new line of - I can hardly bring myself to say it - dog soap.

As if it’s not enough that all of our tireless bestinkification efforts are scuppered once a month when humans bring it upon their sadistic selves to coerce us into macabre glass chambers within which torturous sheets of mock rain conspire with oozing suds of doom to strip the helpless hound of every last molecule of the florid dog fragrances which make our lives worth living….they had to tighten the screws further still by coming up with a soap which, apparently, allows the heartless, malicious torturer to administer more frequent washings.

I wish that were all. From the press release:

Each bar also has molded massage nodes to simulate the action of dozens of gentle washing fingers

Sweet mother of mercy.

The look on that Boston Terrier’s face says it all. “Help me, please, anyone…please, she’s crazy…I beg of you….”

Poor bastard. Anyone who comes within 100 yards of me with a bar of that bone shaped hellfire in their hand will require two full length mirrors and a set of tweezers to pick my teeth out of their butt - and that’s a promise.

Filed under: Dog Bravery, Dog Health, Pooch Predicaments by Bob
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There’s a new Chihuahua movie coming out October 3rd and demand for the little scraps is expected to spike as a result. But, says Lynnie Bunten of the Chihuhua club of America, many fans won’t know what they’re getting into.

Chihuahuas suffer from a genetic disorder known as “Napoleon Complex”, which means that they have an innate compulsion to dominate continental Europe, usually achieve complete annihilation, and face the risk of being exiled to a small island off the coast of Tuscany if they’re not careful.

If I had to give one piece of advice to prospective Chihuahua owners I would say: always steer the conversation away from politics. They have frustratingly rigid opinions, hate being presented with empirical evidence, are liable to make circular arguments and will administer fat lips and cauliflower ears to anyone who objects.

Filed under: Bad Dogs, Wackos by Bob
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If you’ve ever worried that your dog’s chances of being mugged on the streets of New York were too low, then look no further than these stunning canine crime-magnets. Masterfully crafted by master craftsmen who are masters of their craft, you won’t find a swankier set of dog diamonds for less than $2-million, not even at Petco.

Imagine how graceful and majestic your metropolitan mutt will look crouched between two parked cars with knees-a-tremble sporting these babies. Picture the stark juxtaposition between diamond and fire-hydrant as your proud pooch cocks their leg. Anticipate the pride which will swell in your heart as Foo-Foo dives into a flock of pigeons on the sidewalk to help them with an old pizza crust, the shiny multi-million dollar stones around their neck scraping along the vomit-encrusted pavement as you congratulate yourself on having made perhaps the most astute, sagacious purchase of your entire life.

And Foo-Foo will thank you for it! “The other dogs were getting bored of bullying me down at the dog run”, she’ll say, “and now I have something which will rekindle their interest in chasing me under the benches for weeks to come.”

But hang on a minute. Diamonds are a girl’s best friend. A dog is man’s best friend. So a diamond encrusted dog makes a perfect wedding gift, right? Or should I just go with the George Foreman grill?

Filed under: Deluded Humans, Lassie Grave Spinning, Puppy Pretense by Bob
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The two day festival of dog-debauchery at Kenosha, WI, is over…leaving local residents reeling as fears of another era of moral decay among dogs are expressed nationwide.

By all accounts, the event was scheduled to be a civil affair, with owners being advised to keep their dogs leashed at all times. However, like the famed Woodstock festival of 1969, the shindig quickly became a free-for-all melee of degenerates without leashes, rampant drug taking and unscooped poop.

Dognip was freely available and openly smoked by nefarious hounds throughout the site, leading one observer (me) to wonder if in fact Lassie might well be literally spinning in her grave. There were reports of uninhibited humping leading one commentator (me) to wonder how many of these heedless mutts were neutered - and to what extent we will witness an outbreak of “Woofstock puppies” in approximately nine weeks time.

The whole fiasco was set against a background of some of the most cacophonic dog-rock I have ever had the misfortune of hearing - a mindless din of atonal freeform barking performed by “artists” who should never have been let out of their crates. The unconscionable lineup included:

• Canned Food
• Sly and the Family Bone
• Joe Cocker Spaniel
• Ten (Dog) Years After
• Jimi Dogtrix - there to promote his latest single, “Undomesticated Thing”

The ears of yours truly were ringing throughout - which is probably a good thing since I never got to hear the cultist Yappie leader Labbie Hoffman onstage urging everyone to swap collars.

The only positive thing throughout the entire event was arrival of veterinarian volunteers who set up a tent at the south end of the field on the second day - and I am happy to report that I was able, free of charge, to have my glands drained without the embarrassment of having to ask my regular veterinarian.

Filed under: Bad Dogs, Lassie Grave Spinning by Bob
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