Page 36 - Rana Sampson Issue (1)

Bitchin’ & Moaning LUNCH IN BRUSSELS

Accessory Dog Envy

By Diane Netter
By Judith A. Habert
I have a dog. His name is Rusty and he is an 11 year old Labrador
and German Sheppard mix. Even though he recently had a near
death experience which called for emergency surgery, he is now
and has always been a “real” dog; I mean a full grown, run in the
backyard jump up on you kind of dog. He is loving and kind and
extremely protective. He sticks his head through the staircase ban-
ister bars to kiss me goodnight every evening as he heads up the
stairs to his bed in the room he shares with my middle daughter. So
why is it that if I go into any department or specialty pet store there
are always tons of clothes, coats and cute outfits for little tiny acces-
sory dogs, but rarely can we ever outfit Rusty in the style to which
he would quickly become accustomed. Why don’t large dogs get to
be spoiled the same way that little ones do? The few sweaters we
have bought him make his chest look like the Incredible Hulk’s and,
needless to say, do not appear to be a comfortable choice for him.
Even when traveling poor Rusty must remain in the car while his ac-
cessory counterpart is dropped into one of those cute little designer
pocketbooks that the stars (i.e. Paris Hilton) walk around with. There
is obvious discrimination against “real” dogs, even landlords have
managed a way to appear politically correct when they say “Dogs
Allowed*,” yet in very tiny print at the bottom corner of the ad the
asterisk is explained excluding any dog that happens to weigh more I am sitting in an outdoor café in the impressive Grand Place in
than 30 lbs. So not only is there “real” dog discrimination, but obvi- Brussels, Belgium. For an American experiencing this place for
ously weight discrimination as well. Let’s face it, it is tough to keep the first time, I am overwhelmed by its beauty and antiquity. The
a lab/Sheppard mix under 30 lbs. Grand Place is a cobblestone square surrounded by impressive
36 While taking Rusty on a walk through the neighborhood people tend buildings built hundreds of years ago and inlaid with real gold.
to cross the street rather than pass nearby. He doesn’t growl at The October sun is warming me as I sit confidently looking at the
them or show his teeth, the discrimination comes purely due to his menu. I can’t believe how lucky I am to be sitting here, listening
size. Rusty wouldn’t hurt a fly, although there was that one incident to a multitude of foreign languages spoken at other tables and
when he attempted to catch our runaway canary…but that couldn’t by the people walking in the square. I try to understand snippets
be helped. of conversations since I know a little French, Spanish and Ger-
When moving from New York to San Diego this discrimination man, and am always practicing. I feel I am sitting in the center
reared its ugly head once again. Sitting several seats away from of the world with so much culture, history and lively, intelligent
us was a woman and her accessory dog that she attended to many people surrounding me.
times during the trip. Where was Rusty? In the luggage compart- My efficient waiter approaches to take my order. Brussels’
ment below the plane. They treated my adorable puppy (he was citizens speak mostly French and I am determined to sound like
less than a year at the time) like Samsonite. I ask you…Is this fair? a native. I have been sitting here rehearsing how to say I want a
I think it is time that we start a movement against this type of obnox- cheese sandwich in French for about 15 minutes. I love cheese
ious discrimination. Give us clothes for our “real” dogs, a seat on and have been looking forward to having some all morning. I
the plane next to us, and in this case we need to finally admit that open my mouth and, in my best French accent, say, “Je voudrais
“Size does matter” le pain avec frommage et jambon.” The waiter, intently bending
over his pad and pencil, apparently thinks I really know what I’m
saying and asks me a question in rapid fire French. My mouth
gapes open as I realize I don’t understand a thing he just said.
Not wanting to admit this, I nod my head and as he walks briskly
away, his question (“seul le jambon?”) slowly translates in my
brain. With a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, I realize I
have just ordered dry bread and ham, not what I wanted at all.
Suddenly I am profoundly disappointed with myself. Doubtful
thoughts tell me I am not the clever traveler I thought I was. The
people in the square no longer look friendly, but seem to stare
and point at me. Their faces are contorted into sneers and I
cringe at their mocking laughter. My confidence disappears just
as quickly as the sun retreating behind the clouds.
My waiter appears again, setting my plate of dry bread and ham
in front of me with a flourish. I try to smile and choke down a few
bites, but I can’t help thinking how good it would taste if I only
had some cheese. Merde!

March/April 2011