Dogs as children

I have a new item that I think needs to be included in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM IV).

Obsessive Compusilve Pet Disorder. Characterized by ridiculous need to treat your pet like an actual child.

On the way out of Border’s Bookstore last night, a group of friends and I spied a curious site: a woman pushing a dog in a stroller. And slung around the stroller handle was a pink, Winnie-the-Pooh diaper bag.

Really?

All of us live and socialize in the North Phoenix/Cave Creek/Scottsdale area. And this is not the first time any of us has seen someone pushing a dog in a stroller (sad, but true). If you go up to Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall you see this all the time. I once saw a woman totting her yappy dog in baby carrier reminiscent of the Baby Bjorn that I use to carry the girls. Apparently there are a lot of women in this area with too much time and money on their hands who are struggling with empty nest syndrome. These are the same women who disown their children for looking at them sideways, die, and then leave their multi-million dollar estates to Kiki, the annoying Malti-Poo who just crapped in the linen section of Pottery Barn.

But I think the diaper bag is what pushed us over the edge.

I know what I carry in my diaper bag (diapers, wipes, extra formula, diaper creak, flask of alcohol), but what does one put in a dog diaper bag? Milk Bones? An extra leash? A plastic bag to pick up their poop? And really, couldn’t that stuff just fit in your purse?

There is something oddly amusing to me about people that treat their dogs like actually babies. I know that dogs are living breathing creatures with personalities and that for may people they are considered members of the family. But dogs are not people. They are animals (Canis familiaris domesticus, thank you Wikipedia). And unless it’s an assistance dog, I don’t think dogs belong at the mall or the bookstores. Dogs belong in parks, the backyard, or sprawled out across the bed.

Dan and I are dog people. I love Elie and Ginger (most of the time, except when Elie pee’s in the house) but the day I take them for a quick jaunt to Fashion Square and put them in a stroller is officially the day that I will need a 72-hour hold and a Thorazine drip.