Bad Table, Bad Dog

In the West End of Vancouver, people are obsessed with their dogs. I'm not one of those people. I'm a cat person myself. Just one will do. I haven't turned into one of those women yet. The kind that must purchase a house to house their ever-expanding numbers of feline friend-substitutes.

I do like some big dogs. My like of the dog is directly correlated to how much I like the owner. The dog can't be so big that it scares me. It has to be a friendly big dog that wags its tail.

Collies. Chocolate Brown Labs. Golden Retrievers. Sheep Dogs. German Shepherds that know me already so they don't bark at me every time I re-enter their territory.

The dogs I really don't care for are the ones that seem to have been genetically modified in a test-tube in some laboratory that isn't really legally entitled to be creating dogs. You've heard of puppy mills? These laboratories are called, umm, I don't really know. Got any ideas?

I expect these little insect-rodent-dogs come to fruition in the same manner that foam trees pop out of capsules when you put them in water and leave them for a few days. Or, they get made from combining grasshoppers with beavers or something using the Teleporter from that movie The Fly.

Whenever I see one of those dogs with the kindling-sized, matchstick legs, I think of that movie, A Fish Called Wanda and how that guy was always trying to find new ways to kill that old lady's dogs. Oh, I'm sorry am I offending anyone?

I often wonder where all these Size 0 dogs came from in the West End? There were no dogs that looked like that when I was a child. What has transpired in the many, many years in between my birth and the present to create these insect-rodent-dog breeds?

And, while I'm on the subject, my pet peeve when it comes to dog owners in the West End is how they'll be walking down the street and how they'll have their little insect-rodent-dog on one of those retractable leashes. It doesn't occur to them that when you're walking towards them, like a regular human or the nearest facsimile, that if they don't retract the leash (in much the same manner one retracts a fishing line) that just happens to have their dog at the end of it, that you will either have to jump rope "Double-Dutch-style" over their leash, or walk right into it doing an amazing Stevie Wonder imitation, or walk way out of your way because God forbid you should inconvenience their dog who they have not taught to HEAL like real dogs and real dog owners have trained them to do.

But no, oh no. Because their kissey,kissey, huggy, huggy baby insect-rodent dog is on one side of the sidewalk, they are on the other, and you, the invisible dog-free entity, are trapped in the middle.

I'm not really interested in talking about dogs actually. So much for a segue.

I am interested in talking about the table (above) and how perfect a breed it would be in the living room of a Vancouver loft where those insect-rodent-dogs are most likely to be found.

They are in their unnatural habitats being fawned and tripped over and dressed in pink or rainbow-hued raincoats by their very proud masters and mistresses who are unknowingly, but systematically, being trained into submission by their miniature alpha, insect-rodent-dogs. They should all be rounded up and be made to participate in a training session offered by The Dog Whisperer. Thank you Keiko! Rant complete!

This table is part of a small exhibit at the offices of The Architectural Institute of BC. A very poised UBC student named Lauren leads walks around the city, speaking to the architectural history of specific neighborhoods.

Showing up for one of the walks she leads is what led me to spy this table in the first place. It is located inside the office space of the AIBC across from Victory Square at Cambie and Pender Streets. There is a small exhibit of furniture at the moment in the reception area which is huge.

I like the humour of whomever created this table. I guess I should have looked to find out who that was. I wonder what kind of dog they own?

I wonder, if you owned such a table, would your dog be really confused with you "f...ing" with its head?

Would your dog look at the table and think hey wait a minute, where's the fire hydrant?

Would it look at the table and think well, I guess I'll just go take a dump over there by the lamp on the heavenly, furry lambskin rug because obviously some other dog already owns the territory under that table, or whatever.

Bad Dog.
Bad Table.