Maine is for Bi-Pedal Lovers - column by Ingrid Gabriel

My coworker came in the other day and put a Down East magazine article in front of me. "I thought you might be interested in this," she said, without any obvious trace of irony. When I saw the subject, I found myself putting my head in my hands and asking, "Has it really come to this?"

The article was encouraging me to get away with my companion and enjoy carriage rides through Portland, weekends in luxurious country inns and strolls through the historic districts of old coastal whaling villages. During the day, we were invited to explore delightful boutiques and charming antique emporiums.

In the evening, it suggested that I relish the local wines and famous seafood cuisine in the company of my beloved. And then, when the starlight begins to tango across the rippling waves, my special friend and I were encouraged to take a long walk on the beach before turning down the duvet at our quaint B&B.

The last time I did anything involving moonlit beach walks and lobster dinners in Maine, my partner was attractive, bi-pedal, well-read, and didn't try to mate with the legs of passing strangers (at least not when I was around). While he had his shortcomings, I wasn't required to stand by with a plastic bag while he squatted in the shrubs. Apparently, Down East doesn't have much confidence in my ability to attract members of my own species and believes that I should admit defeat and take my next romantic vacation with my dog.

Great. Just what I long for. More quality time in a beautiful setting to really connect with my dog. Included in the article were various photos of single people kayaking at dawn with their Jack Russell on the bow, riding in a horse drawn carriage with a Border collie sitting on the seat next to them, and sharing an ice cream cone at the pier with a yellow Lab. The photos made me want to pin the article to my chest with a note that reads, "If you ever see me doing anything like this, please have me put down in a humane manner."

Don't get me wrong. I spend plenty of time with my dog doing very fun things and making wonderful memories. Why, just the other day, I was sitting on my bathroom floor and trimming the fluff under her tail with a pair of safety scissors. My dog has the kind of furry pantaloons that trap the sort of debris you hate to see clinging to an animal that sleeps on your bed. I can't say that I have ever gotten that intimate with a human love interest before but, nevertheless, I am resisting any pressure to vacation with my Pom.

I don't know when we started placing our dogs at the center of our lives. Dogs in my youth were seldom allowed to even come indoors, let alone have social opportunities and educational programs arranged for them. I have friends who, willingly, give up precious weekends to attend high level training courses with their pups. Doggy play dates are scheduled and home-cooked dog food recipes are shared.

I have soothed several aggrieved friends who were disappointed at the results of a visit to the groomers', "I don't why she cut Wookie's muzzle so short! I told her that I like his hair a bit longer around his jaw and to leave his eyebrows long. He looks just awful and I know he's embarrassed!" (That must be why Wookie has his nose tucked between his hind legs and is licking himself...he's feeling self-conscious.)

My apartment complex keeps a dog trainer/consultant on staff who teaches classes and is always available to answer questions about discipline, nutrition, and canine behavior. Television programs like the Dog Whisperer with Cesar Milan are immensely popular, as are televised dog shows like Westminster and the Eukanuba National Championship where nothing happens at all. The audience is, essentially, watching and applauding people who are walking dogs. Even my sister has a special shower cap for her Airedale Terrier to wear when she (the dog) is in the shower.

If you think that I, somehow, just don't have the sort of requisite nurturing psychology to really comprehend the beautiful relationship between human and canine companion, you need to come on over. I am in bonded servitude to my dog, and I have little hope for freedom any time soon because my vet assures me that my dog is likely to live a normal life span. Even as I write this, I have just gotten off the phone with my vet discussing financing options for my dog's impending dental surgery.

I'm emotionally attached to her, but my dog is a high-maintenance mini-wolf. She's so high strung that she barks at herself; she keeps a grotto full of bits of trash, pens and chewed up underwear under the couch, just out of my reach. Her bladder is the size of a neutrino. In any one day, I serve her two well rounded meals including meat, a vegetable entrée and steamed brown rice along with kibble that is so refined, I can't buy it without a prescription.

I inject her morning and evening with porcine insulin imported from Denmark and derived from Danish pigs that, presumably, volunteered their pancreases so that my Pom could balance her glucose level. I often hide in the bathroom just to get away from her slavish adoration and need for relentless physical contact. My dog is an acquired taste that only I have managed to acquire. Still, I persevere.

When I held her as a six-week-old pup, tucked into a Christmas stocking five years ago, I promised, "I'll be there for you. You can rely on me." I am highly reluctant to renegotiate that verbal agreement. But there will be no tropical cruises, no international travel to exotic locales, no climbing Machu Picchu or Giza at dawn; no hot air balloon rides over Tuscany together. When I go on vacation, the dog stays home.

While my love for my dog is more ambivalent than unconditional, I recognize that many, many people are absolutely besotted with their dogs. According to a survey published in Prevention magazine, 90 percent of women identify at least one quality in their dog that they'd like in their significant other. Thirty-four percent said that if their dog were human, they'd date him. (My guess is that the thirty-four percent don't have dogs that prefer to drink from the toilet - that would be really awkward when you take your dog-boyfriend home for Thanksgiving).

The businesses featured in the Down East article have recognized that there is gold in providing canine-centric amenities for vacationing visitors: a doggie room service menu (in case your dog just needs a little pick-me-up around cocktail hour or afternoon tea), canine outerwear (when fur just isn't enough), gourmet treats (for the dog who is expanding his palette beyond eating the poop of other dogs), sight-seeing cruises (so your dog has something to jot down in his travel journal), private carriage tours (when you just need to be alone with your dog in a carriage), shopping trips to Planet Dog (in the event that the world has run out of underprivileged children who enjoy toys) and skiing (but not snowboarding, ice-dancing or luge).

All of this redirected love that used to be reserved for other hominids is fueling an enormous doggie and pet merchandising industry. According to Lloyd Garver in Modern Times, "Nearly two-thirds - 63 percent - of households have a pet, and pet lovers spent $38.5 billion on their pets in 2006, up from $21 billion a decade earlier. According to the Census Bureau, in the last decade, the percentage of homes with pets has remained relatively stable, but the amount of money people spend on pets has doubled. We spend several billion dollars more on dog and cat food than on baby food." (Of course, children don't eat baby food after a year or so; dogs eat it their whole lives.)

Garver states that "after consumer electronics, pet 'care' is the fastest growing retail business in America. Some owners pay for cosmetic surgery to get rid of pug noses, droopy eyes, and other 'doggy features.' And there's even a patented testicular implant that sells for up to $919 a pair to restore the way pets looked before they were neutered. So far, 240,000 pairs of them have been sold."

A possible reason cited for all this lavish spending is that many people these days are deciding not to have children, so they have pets and indulge in spending freely on them. It's pretty clear to me that if you're spending your holidays with your dog, your chances of having kids (or puppies) are further reduced. Particularly if you're at a country B&B with Rex and he has a reason to need those pricey implants.

It's a good bet that I'll be vacationing in Maine again, and its wild coastline, storybook lighthouses and charming restaurants will invoke memories of by-gone visits and a long-lost lover. I'll revisit the cabins we shared and hike the same trails on a bronze autumn afternoon with a different companion. Perhaps I'll be snuggled under that warm duvet with someone new. Maybe, someday soon and in the fullness of time, I'll meet the dog of my dreams.

Note-to-Self #2: After a previous column, "Our Song", several readers inquired about good break-up songs. My favorite is Mark Graham's "I Can See Your Aura (and It's Ugly)":

I've done lots of spiritual healing,
I'm in touch with all my feelings.
I've read palms and read the stars of kings and queens.
And I hate to bum you out, but you have, without a doubt,
the ugliest aura this poor boy's ever seen!

(Chorus:)

I can see your aura and it's ugly!
Your spirit must be rotten to the core!
To a New Age guy like me, you just bring pain and misery.
So, darling, I can't love you any more!

In some life before, you murdered people by the score.
Your evil is so totally complete!
All good from you is gone, you are darkness with no dawn.
Either that or you are eating too much meat!

(Chorus)

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Ingrid is currently living and respectably employed in Austin, Texas with a firm specializing in environmental law. She hopes to get back home to the San Juan Islands next spring to stay.
While Ingrid is spiritually promiscuous, she credits her guru, Jimmy Buffet, for her mantra..."If we couldn't laugh, we would all go insane." Besides a passion for Tiki Studies, Ingrid is borderline biblio-obsessive. She is an old-school Libran - i.e., she won't be leading the Revolution, but she'll work to make it an attractive affair and hire the musicians and caterers."

Her column appears every other Thursday in San Juan Islander. To contact Ingrid, send emails to ingrid@sanjuanislander.com

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