We ate our first dinner in England at a small restaurant in our village. We were hungry, completely jetlagged, and cranky. The maître d’ was a bit huffy that we did not “book in,” which is standard restaurant culture over there, but he hesitantly seated the seven of us.
We sat down at an empty table, and my famished children, ages 10 months to 12 years had nothing to do, nothing to color, and there was no breadbasket. I asked an employee if we could have a few packets of crackers to hold us over. The guy had no idea what I was even talking about, and I soon learned that it wasn’t a thing in the UK. Our two youngest girls were particularly fussy, and it was clear that the stereotype for slow restaurant service was an absolute reality. There would not be a breadbasket or crackers.
I tried to play it cool and remain calm while the minutes ticked off.
Just about that time, another couple was seated behind us. I could hear a jingling of buckles and chains. I turned around and sure enough, a large, super fluffy dog accompanied them into the dining area. I was initially appalled that a mouth-breathing hairy animal was allowed to splay out and loudly pant right behind our dinner seats! But feelings of disgust paled and were quickly replaced with complete outrage when the same employee bounced over to deliver the dog a brightly-colored ramekin filled with adorable, artisan dog appetizers. We sat there hungry and watched the dog enjoy his treats.
This story still makes me so mad!!!
I am not a dog person.
And while I understand how people love their pets deeply, I don’t understand why society demands that we regard them as comparable citizens. There’s such a thing as being allergic to dogs, afraid of dogs, and concerned with good hygiene in personal spaces.
It’s the 21st century, and dogs are people too. News headlines ought to influence everyone to contribute their excess energy and money toward supporting the poor and oppressed. Considering the daily public outcry against all that is unjust, you’d think businesses would assume there is no market for absurd, unnecessary, unwarranted products. But this is the 21st century: I hereby introduce dog ice cream.
Dog ice cream.
Because generations of American dogs have wished they could go to the grocery store and pick out some ice cream. Because every time kids have a birthday party, dogs also want to frolic around the back yard with an ice cream. Because what else would we serve them when they graduate from obedience school? Because every time a dog sees us eating ice cream, it lowers its head, tucks its tail, mopes to the corner, and texts its friend that its parents suck.
Dog ice cream. The world is literally falling apart around us while companies are working around the clock on dog ice cream development. We have children separated from their parents at the borders, while pet parents around the country are making a run back to the store because they forgot to pick up dog…ice…cream.
Kids are suffering, but it’s hard to find ways to help, because our dogs want ice cream. If this isn’t the biggest “let them eat cake” situation we have seen in modern times, I don’t know what is! But it’s worse! It’s “why don’t we give ice cream to our dogs?”
I saw dog ice cream for the first time in the Commissary in 2012. Even at that time, I was in disbelief. But those were better days. Dog ice cream suitably fit the 2012 era: everyone was so happy even the dogs were celebrating. But it’s not holding up anymore.
Dog ice cream. Was there a board which consulted with dog psychiatrists who confirmed that ice cream would improve their species as a whole? Is there a council for the betterment of a dog-child’s life? Next you’ll tell me that your dog goes to YDCA camp.
I leave you with a quotation from a well-meaning website. This is from an article that features organic, home-made dog ice cream recipes. “There are many ways you can help keep your dog cool in hot weather. Frozen dog treats are a great surprise for your dog. Not only will they help cool your dog off, but they can also help relieve boredom when it is cooped up inside.”
I don’t even know where to appropriately end this essay. But here is a possible alternative. Toss some frozen, freezer-burned French fries underneath your table and call your dog. That should take care of it.
Don’t forget to pop over to the “Daily” tab to read–I attempt to write there every day.