Dogs

Creative, Funny, Unusually Honest Marketing of an Awful Dog Named ‘Eddie the Terrible’

Most pet adoption listings try to make the cats and dogs up for adoption as appealing as possible. But not the Humane Society Silicon Valley, which last week published a creative, funny, and unusually honest listing for a tiny tornado of a Chihuahua, “Eddie the Terrible.” UPDATE: Eddie gets a home. It’s an awesome piece of writing—rough edges and all—by Finnegan Dowling, who works with the shelter. And it’s the ridiculously good writing that’s making this pint-sized demon dog a mini viral sensation. Eddie has been written up in the Huffington Post. On Facebook, his posting has been shared 350 times since December 9. Eddie’s traction might not be massive—but it’s gargantuan for this small Silicon Valley shelter, which typically sees a fraction of that level of activity on its listings. See what good writing can do? “How does so much naughty exist in a small dog?” begins the listing, […]

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Swinging Doors and Second Chances

Usually I write about content and marketing here. But today I’m temporarily returning to this site’s roots with a personal story. 1. Nine years ago I drove from Boston to Connecticut to pick up an almost one-year-old Cavalier King Charles spaniel named Abby. She was to be a foster dog for a short while, until the rescue group found her a permanent home. The details were murky: A family somewhere in NY had surrendered her – something about how they bought her from a pet store, and she spent much of her time at home in a cage. I guess her original owners knew she deserved more. And so they gave her to Rescue, to give her a second chance. The first time I met Abby she was tiptoeing like a cat along the back of the Rescue coordinator’s couch, acting like she owned the place. (She didn’t.) She was

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24 Hours of Bacon

Two days ago I unloaded my creaky old boy Simon from the back seat of the car and helped him wheel himself into the veterinarian’s office to essentially ask his doctor what’s impossible to answer: How long does he have? We were only a few steps from the door. But the journey took an eternity, me holding up his front legs via a lead attached to Simon’s cart, and Simon doing his best to power his way along. There’s an art to keeping the lead just tense enough and with the right forward pull to keep him upright and in motion, but not tense enough to lift him off the ground and choke him, or rush him so he loses the ground under his halting, deliberate steps. It’s an art we’ve perfected together, my boy and I, since he lost the ability to walk on his own. Several times a

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Just A Dog

I’ve been in a tough place this week; like my skin is thin as tissue paper, and it bleeds raw at the slightest chafe. Yesterday the imbecile at the college financial aid office started arguing with me when I called to inquire about a billing issue. She thought I was complaining, the bitch, when clearly I was merely clarifying. By the time I ended the call, I was brimming with rage and frustration. I thought for a moment that maybe I was the one primed for a fight. But no, she really was unreasonable (the bitch – did I say that?). I was on a cell phone, and I pined momentarily for the ability to slam the handset back into its cradle. That would have felt more satisfying. And I thought: Technology. It sucks, too. Maybe it’s more like walking around with my insides on my outside, and my flesh

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How to Feed a Fussy Little Dog: Chile’s List of Requirements

1. Preference to remain someplace safe — lurking in the shadows, under a bed — while the other dogs (“idiots”) chaotically dance around and drool at the ping of kibble hitting the bowl. Rationale: You can get stepped on, drooled on, or accidentally eaten when Maisy mistakes you for a bit of sausage (it could happen). 2. Include something special in the bowl — preferably on top of, not UNDERNEATH (!!) — the kibble. Sausage will do (see sausage comment, above), as will turkey, cheese, chicken, ham, or almost any kind of food preferred by the French. Foods to avoid: Eggs (blech!), lamb (not sure why, I just don’t like the idea of it, I guess), and any kind of vegetable, although clearly this should go without saying. Also, bear in mind that not all dogs like liver and other organ meats, and this includes me. I’d rather have a

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About A Dog

My little dog Abby lost her right eye yesterday. “Lost” is a funny term for it—implying that she misplaced it somewhere and can’t for the life of her remember where, like you might car keys. Maybe, in time, “lost” will be enough to define the visceral brutality of what happened. But not quite yet. Then again, I’m not entirely sure what happened, exactly. I do know this much, in the way that your mind tills over and over the details leading up to a terrible thing, as if to search for clues that things were about to be altered forever: My daughter Caroline and I were in the backyard. I was combing the surface of a new garden with a steel rake. Abby and her canine sister, Maisy, were with us, too, roaming—as they often do—amid a thick bed of flowers and ferns some 50 feet away. Abby stands only

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Georgie: A Rescue Story

This morning I got an update on a former foster dog — a Cavalier King Charles spaniel who lived with us two years ago, from just prior to Halloween to just before Christmas. The dog had some kind of skin condition and arrived hairless, itchy, raw, reddened and miserable. He was about as sad as sad can look. He didn’t come with a name, so I named him Georgie, because his naked face reminded me of the illustration of the children’s book character Curious George. Another volunteer, Huntly, picked Georgie up in Vermont and a mutual friend delivered him as far as a highway exit in New Hampshire. The first time I saw him, he was in a dog crate in the back of a van at a rest area, growling and snarling, his skinny body pressed as far back as he could get against the crate’s back wall, and

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Wagging the Dog

I had some happy news last week: The story of Gigi’s adventure with her beloved green tomato has been picked up by The Bark, a magazine I happen to love. In other words, if I were a dog, my tail would be wagging like that of a retriever with a tennis ball. (Or Gigi herself with a pork chop.) Big shout here to The Bark editor Lisa Wogan for making it happen. If you don’t know The Bark, it’s a bi-monthly magazine about modern dog culture, with a literary twist. If NPR’s office dog hung around after hours, The Bark might be what he’d produce as his moonlighting project. I’m tempted to say that there’s plenty in each issue to appeal to the non-dog lover as well. But I have four dogs, so you shouldn’t trust my opinion anyway. Either way, check out Gigi’s story again. Just for the thrill

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