Something is rotten in the state of Denmark.
You’re probably wondering which of the current national SNAFUs to which I am referring. Yoda knows, there are plenty of choices on this January night. No, the foulness doesn’t come from any sort of equity issue or economic problem. It’s not a reproductive freedom issue.
Something is actually rotten in the state of New York.
I’m pissed at The Westminster Dog Show.
My favorite sporting event of the year has betrayed me in a most heinous way.
Cats are making an appearance.
Let that sink in.
Cats are making an appearance at my beloved Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Dog Show. Dog Show.
Dog Show with 140 years of dogs.
Felines will be part of the Meet & Greet event, which helps educate folks about different breeds, and some are also going to participate in some type of obstacle course.
What’s next, swine in the Miss USA contest?
I know someone will call me a Snowflake and say I’m discriminating against cats.
Newsflash: Cats don’t give a f&ck.
Cats can be pretty, I guess, but it’s not like they do cool things like train humans for marathons, find bombs, search & rescue, flush birds, hunt game, herd sheep, guide blind folks, protect homes, do dock jumping, rescue people from mountains, rescue humans in water, pull sleds, assist law enforcement, tracking, therapy and service work, serve next to soldiers, race, detect cadavers, or find truffles. Dogs do those things. Dogs do those things while being loyal as hell to their person and family.
Cats. It’s not that all of them I’ve met are evil. I would even consider having one someday. They can be cute and loving and I will say that some cats are excellent mousers. But they don’t do all the awesome stuff that dogs do.
As I was fuming over this, I thought about a time when the Bitches protected me in a way a cat never could. It was early one Sunday morning, back in Sioux Falls. We were training for a fall marathon, so summer training runs started early in July and August, sometimes before sunrise to beat the heat and humidity.
We were just getting going up the block when I saw a man walking towards us and the closer we got, the faster he seemed to be walking. He was stumbling a bit, fairly intoxicated from the night before.
As he crossed the street, the hackles on both girls’ necks rose, and I started to wonder if there was gonna be trouble. I slowed to a stop as he started to yell at me.
The problem was he was yelling in another language.
Maybe he needed help. Maybe he was upset. Maybe he wanted to kill me. I had no idea.
Joey always ran on my left and Alli on my right. Since the man was coming from the right, Joey positioned herself in front of me and Alli took the lead in front of her.
He stopped a few feet to my right and I heard a low growl.
Then he pointed his right index finger at me, started yelling again, and leaned in like he was going to point right in my face.
Until Alli jumped up and gave a little warning nibble on the tip of that forefinger.
Another low growl.
Joey was locked in position.
Showdown at the Old Bitch Corral.
The whole exchange felt like five minutes, but I’m sure it was just a few seconds and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that had he chosen to lean in again, Alli would have locked on his forearm.
Thankfully, he backed away and went back to the other side of the street, so we got on with the scheduled run.
I’m sure they forgot about it a few blocks later, but I never did.