Women's Best Friend
by Art Hoppe
San Francisco Chronicle, October 27, 1991
"Men are perilously close to becoming pets. Women are starting to see that their lives can go on quite famously without them." -Futurist Watts Wacker
Like most red-blooded men who read this prediction in one of those trendy articles about the ‘90s, I was offended. It simply isn’t true. And to confirm my opinion, I spoke to Gladys Claw, co-owner of the Fang & Claw Pet Shoppe.
“We have no intention whatsoever of stocking men as pets,” Ms. Claw said flatly.
“Just as I thought!” I said triumphantly. Then a doubt assailed me. “Why not?” I asked.
She shrugged. “What woman in her right mind would want a 175-pound creature around the house that would require untold time, money and energy to keep in good condition?” she demanded. “And for what?”
“Now, just a minute,” I protested. “Most men would make excellent pets. We don’t bark, shed or bite the postman.”
“And you cost more to feed than a Great Dane,” she said. “Talk about picky. What man doesn’t turn up his nose at kibbles?”
“We’re worth it,” I said. “Who among us scratches the sofa or chokes on hair balls?”
“But you get sick more often than miniature schnauzers,” she said. “And when you do you whine so much.”
“Many of us suffer with stoic dignity,” I said.
“And that’s even more unbearable,” she agreed. “You don’t see budgies whining or being stoic.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but you don’t have to clean our cage.”
“A cage might help,” she said musingly. “We wouldn’t have to follow trails of dirty laundry, wet towels and rings on the furniture. Best of all, we could throw a cloth over you to shut you up at night.”
“Now look here!” I said angrily, my voice rising.
She wagged a finger. “Stop barking,” she said. “You’ll annoy the neighbors. I’m sure you men have many excellent qualities. If I could just think of one!”
“We’re more cuddly than goldfish,” I said.
“That’s absolutely true,” she agreed. “Of course, if you want to go on vacation, you can’t leave your man with a neighbor. In fact, you can’t even board him in a kennel. You’re stuck with taking him along. Luckily, most hotels will accept men these days, as long as they’re clean and well-behaved.”
“We’re more intelligent than gerbils,” I said. “Show me a gerbil that can take out the garbage or unplug a down spout.”
“You’re right,” she said. “Many men can be taught simple chores, if they’ve had adequate early training. But it’s chancy. The young ones are unpredictable, and the old ones... Well, you can’t teach an old man new tricks, we say.”
“At least a lot of us are one-women men,” I said defensively.
“Yes, but you’re what we call ‘one-man’ pets,” she said. “If a woman wants to bring home a younger man, she has to get rid of the old one. Either she has to find a good home for him or put him to sleep. It’s a terrible nuisance.”
“I imagine so,” I said. “But if a woman wants a loyal, intelligent, adoring, entertaining, protective companion...”
Ms. Claw nodded. “She should get a cocker spaniel.”
[October 27, 1991 was a Sunday. Terry & I were visiting friends in Carmel, California, and were staying at a lovely inn in Carmel Valley. I awoke before Terry (she loves to sleep in on vacations) and found a copy of the San Francisco Chronicle on our doorstep. My laughter woke Terry up. This has been a favorite article ever since. Men & women! How do we ever put up with each other? -ed]