Wouldn't have been on my top ten list...

Barley is a 95-pound Chocolate Lab that lives in my house. He's about a year an a half old and is doing nicely with his behavior and training. I've made a point of trying to bring him up well. You see, I notice more and more people with dogs around me, and I must say that I think many of them are twits. There are a few different types of dog owner that totally rub my rhubarb. Are you one of these?

1) Parent of a surrogate child: These are the folks who, for some reason or other, have decided to have a dog instead of a child. On the surface, this is fine and normal, except that dogs aren't people. Honestly... if you more wetly smootch your pooch than you might kiss your spouse or a toddler.. if you dress your four-legged companion in Roots gear... if your dog gets more dental care than you do... it's time to stop. Or at least don't do it in public and save yourself the humiliation. Your baby licks it's genitals, you know, which is something I've never seen my son do.

2) Clueless Galoot: Yeah, brah! You're a manly guy with a big dog who's trolling for babes at the park, or just wandering the 'hood, showing us all that leashes are for pussies... and I don't mean cats. Oh yeah, you're totally in control of Cujo as he climbs up and over my back to play with my (restrained) dog. Wanna know what's harder to control that a 95-pound lab on a leash? Try one that's actively playing with a Rottie and who's running circles around you.

3) Cloistered Caregiver: Yes, you, lady... with the glowering maltese or skittish jack russel. You know... your little dog that lashes out and goes ape-shit when my dog tries to say hello? That's when you look at me like I'm an asshole to tell me meaningfully, "Oh, he doesn't like big dogs". I guess that's my cue to vacate the planet. Here's a hint: either socialize your creepy rat or keep it away from us.

4) Lululemon in Lalaland: Oh, I love attractive young women in yoga-wear, but do they really need to accesorize with a min-pin or chihuahua? These aren't dollies, they are pets. Apparently it's too much hassle to house-train the little darlings, too, so they just clean up after them when they do their business on their couch or in their purse. I don't know about you, but one of the main reason's I like having a dog as a pet is that it's possible to teach then not to crap in your house.

5) Shit Ninja: This is a blanket term for anyone who sneakily manages to allow their dog to leave it's calling card anywhere other than on their own property. Are you the nocturnal great dane owner who walks their dog at 4 am out of the view of the neighbours? Do you let your miniature poodle wander down the alley, unsupervised, for a "visit". Cut it out and clean up your poop!

Sorry. I digress. Dog ownership is wonderful and there are always surprises. One of my favourite sources of such doggy fun is a game called "drop-it roulette". This is where you've trained your dog to follow the verbal command of "drop" and want the hound to cough up some mystery object it's harboring in it's maw. So it was with us last Monday. My boy had Barley on the leash as we were walking to school. The dog eagerly snatched an object from the ground and held it firmly twixt cheek and gum. The dog looked too pleased by half, so I figured it was likely something toxic, filthy, or just plain inappropriate. I gathered myself up in my best alpha male way and intoned firmly, "Drop it, Barley."

This dog of mine has an excellent response when he doesn't want to do something. He assumes a pose we call the "Vinny Barbarino" in which he seems extraordinarily stupid, to the point that he can't understand English. Barley stood strong and looked at me moronically as he cradled the enigma in his mouth. I told him "drop" again, dreading the idea of trying to pry something nasty from his uncooperative jaws. I guess he knew the jig was up because the regular glint of intelligence returned to his eye as he looked at me and went "blup", disgorging something onto the ground at my feet.

So, gentle readers, you knew this is where we were going. There a a lot of things you might expect a dog to spit out. Hell... I've had dogs before. I've been there. But this was unique. This item would not have been on my top-ten list. Peering up at me from the asphalt, glistening and pink in the morning sun, was a naked, beady-eyed chicken head. Bawk bawk, baby.

There are nastier things one might expect to find in an East Vancouver alleyway, but few so unusual and unexpected. I guess Henny Penny's head might've been a.w.o.l . from one of my neighbours' trash cans. Maybe it was a poultry gangland hit. Maybe a wayward Satanist, fresh and giddy from a sacrifice, accidentally had it fall from his pocket. I won't ever know. It was just so odd... so damnedly David Lynch in the morning... that I had to share it with you.

For supper tonight I think I'll fry some sirloins in a cast iron pan. We'll have 'em hot and bloody with beans and mashed potatoes. I like to have the big jar of dijon mustard on the table for ease and comfort in these cases.