Back To Yuffie's Homepage

Dear Yuffie:
Help! Every time I see three dogs pile on a forth, even if it's all in fun, I get this instant urge to dash into the melee - go for a nip or two. I mean I've been through several hundred dollar's worth of obedience sessions. I can't screw up now!
Mad Mike

Dear MM:
Know what you're talking about. The sight of a lone jogger with a limp always sets my hunting instincts on edge. Deep within our canine DNA lies what Hollywood refers to as the Dark Side. Like our cave dwelling ancestors, we possess a primitive urge to run with the pack, go for the straggling prey. It's an instinct permanently embedded - an instinct surpassed only by our primeval fear of vacuum cleaners.

Do what you've been doing - sit it out! The tangible awards will be a rain of treats that will spill from the dog owners' pockets as they madly dash in to separate the combatants.

Dear Yuffie:
What's with our human companions anyway? I mean I'd just gotten this tennis ball away from some wimpy spaniel when everyone came screaming over to me and tried to yank it out of my jaws. It was all I can do not to bite their meaty fingers. It's mine fair and square - the law of the jungle. It's a matter of self respect!
Darth Gator

Dear DG:
Know the feeling. Chomping down on their delicate digits is only going to get you to the pound. I'm a freak about tennis balls myself. The worst is when your owner comes over, grabs you by the muzzle and blows up your nose. Yeachhhhtttt..... Imagine what that's like to our ten million smell sensors - that horrible human breath? No way you can hang on to the ball.

All you can do is look apologetic and wait until they toss it back to the dummy you stole it from. Yeah, they always do that - right in front of you. Humans never learn. Grab it again and rub it in a patch of dog doo stained grass. I guarantee they'll leave you be.

Dear Yuffie:
Can it be that I'm putting on too much weight. I mean I really have to jam myself under the table leg to get at those crumbs. My owners are constantly discussing whether to limit me to two cups of dry kibbles a day. Kibbles? Who in hell invented that silly excuse for dog food. I yearn for fresh kill!
Salivating in the Slope

Dear SS:
Have the same problem. Just the other day, my owners nearly caught me weighing myself in the bathroom. I had to pretend to drink water from that disgusting toilet bowl - you know what humans do in that water,
right?

Exercise is the key. Running in and out the back door at least twenty five times a day will have you lean and trim in no time (if not your human owner too). Hit those stairs running. The pounds will shed like hair. Don't overlook that quick dash at a flock of pigeons or one of those tree rats they call squirrels. Chase the cat, around the house! That's the best exercises going.

Dear Yuffie:
One of my park-mates stopped showing up. No warning, no good-bye, nothing. The rest of the crowd runs around as usual, like nothing's wrong. But I hear hushed whispers among the owners - that he's not coming back, that..... Life doesn't go on forever does it... But there has to be something else. Where do we go when we die?
Pondering Pomeranian

Dear PP
There comes a moment in every young dog's life when we suddenly become aware of our own mortality. We stop chasing anything that moves; we carefully judge the situation lest there be sinister intentions in the mind of an approaching stranger.

Still none of us are perfect. To this day my human companion yanks me up short at intersections - just as I'm about to make a lunge toward that distant squirrel a few dozen yards up the next block. The way I see it, you have to have pretty lame reflexes not to be able to dodge through moving traffic. But what the hey....

As to where we go when we die? That's easy. There's a bright airy white portal we enter which leads to the next world, a place where all household pets pass. We get flushed down the toilet!

Dear Yuffie:
Recently a small room which I used to frequent was put off limits. Now my favorite sleeping corner is occupied by a crib. When I asked around, the old bulldog on the corner claimed that my days were numbered; that I'd soon be put up for adoption; that my owners were expecting a baby.

How can that be? I'm the love of their lives! Is my destiny to be tied to a tree in Prospect Park and abandoned? Can humans be so callous?
Dismayed Dachshund

Dear DD:
Next time your owners are out of the house for a few hours, slip "Lady and The Tramp" into the old VCR. Here's a movie guaranteed to open your eyes to one of the world's greatest injustices. No loving, loyal pet should ever have to worry about being cast out onto the street because of the arrival of a baby - with the exception of cats. While I endeavor to be impartial in this column, their narrow slitted eyes have been known to cast evil spells on little babies.

We noble dogs on the other hand, are loyal guardians, staunch defenders of the helpless. I've often heard my master proclaim that dogs are less trouble than kids, that dogs will eat anything, go anywhere, and love their owners without question. Of course our household is held hostage by two teenagers.

When the blessed event occurs, be on your best behavior - your future depends on it. Be more fawning than usual. Stake out a position under the new arrival's high chair and put on your best opened mouthed smile you know, that fake panting stuff? The sight of the faithful dog, sprawled subserviently on the floor, will bring cries of delight from your owners. And what better position to be in when the food scraps come raining down like manna from heaven.

Dear Yuffie,
My family intends to vacation in Florida for a week; they've been looking for someone to baby-sit me. I've had so-called "interviews" with three local boarding facilities so far. They say that I can't be trusted to be polite with the other dogs.

"Polite? "

Who's judging my manners, the humans or the dogs? I've never had a problem with other dogs. Once they acknowledge that I'm their superior, we get along just fine. I don't have time to think about manners when I have to guard against squirrels, scooters and old people with squeaky shoes!

My people have been whispering at night (when they think I'm sleeping) about putting me in a place that keeps dogs in small, cold cages while they live it up in Florida. I am so sad....
Terror Terrier

Dear TT,
There's never been a time when my family hit the road, that I wasn't curled up in the back seat of the old Dodge Caravan. You're doing great so far - making yourself totally unacceptablto potential boarders! Follow my advice and you, too, will be on your way to sunny Florida. It's a matter of "conditioning" your human companions - a total, unequivocal guilt trip; convince them that you'll die should you be separated from their company.

Here's what works for me...

Whenever they leave the room for any reason, try a low continuous moan, trailing off into a pitiful wail. Plant yourself in the hallway whenever they're about to leave, no matter that they're just going shopping or up the block to mail a letter. Bury your face in your paws and refuse to look at them - again, moan and whimper. Lay it on thick! Of course, unlike yourself, my "stature" allows me to plop my big sad eyes and droopy jowls at tabletop level whenever the subject of boarding comes up.With any luck, they'll be lead footing you to Florida - a twenty two hours trip if they switch at the wheel. A word of caution, however: don't throw up on them! You'll find yourself by the roadside in Nowhere, North Carolina before you can shake your...

Dear Yuffie,
Did you hear the news on the radio? There's some restaurant in town that serves dog, and I don't mean as customers! Serves it to who I want to know? While there's more than a few joggers out there in the park who would gladly see our hides nailed to a tree it would never occur to them to eat us - would it? The term "hot dog" is bad enough. How could I ever look my human companion in the eye again - especially if I were his main course?
Bewildered Basset

Dear BB
"Whom" you mean - use proper grammar. Admittedly Park Slope has always been on the cutting edge (as it were) when it comes to gentrified eateries. Times sure are a changing even in the five years I've been around. Who would have thought that a sushi establishment would open up across the street from a century old Irish bar? Not that the bar's patrons are flocking over for platters of raw fish but the yuppies around here will consume anything.

As for eating dog? It might be just a hysterical rumor. However should the UPS driver make delivery of a super sized barbeque gas grill, I'd tend to be a mite alarmed. Just to be on the safe side, we dogs ought to lean ourselves out a bit, though if that means foregoing the Mid-East Food Kitchen down the block, it will take a supreme effort on my part.

Maybe I'll take my chances...

Dear Yuffie:
You know how it is - my human companion think I sleep all day while they're at work. In truth I can't wait until they're out of the house so that I can catch up on World Events. My problem is that all they get is the New York Times delivered. My buddies in the park claim the Daily News is better. Should I engineer a switch?
Nose for News

Dear NFN,
Stick with the Times in my opinion! It's an easy read. Whenever you encounter an"in depth" double page spread full of incomprehensible charts, you know right away you can skip it. The Daily News on the other hand is slow going. The articles are written to appeal to the lowest common denominator. I mean who really wants to know about John Gotti's dental implants? I couldn't put it down...

Dear Yuffie:
I hate choke collars! Who wants to have your windpipe crushed? I mean what's it to my master if I want to work over some strange dog who intrudes on my territory even in passing? Hey, it's my block! You got to do what you got to do!
Chihuahua From Hell

Dear CFH:
There's a little guy like yourself whom I occasionally pass on the street, who's always barking and snapping like he wants to tear my hide off. Luckily he's rigged up with a body harness. Just about the time I'm deciding to back hand him with a paw (in self-defense), his owner swings him bodily up in the air, floating him over me like some animated wind up toy.

But I agree with you on the matter of chokers. I myself used to be saddled with a pin type collar which served to remind me to stop short whenever I rushed a flock of fluffy pigeons. I eventually grew out of it, but then we Mastiff's are more reasonable about restraints though we're not what you would describe as thin skinned.

Oh, one other thing. Restraint collars should always be removed once you're inside the Park during off-leash hours. Otherwise, it's too easy to snag your owner's fingers should he or she reach in to grab you for whatever reason.

Dear Yuffie:
Does size really matter?
Pint Sized Pup

Dear PSP:
Not according to the character in the above letter! Not that Mastiff owners aren't easily put on the defensive when their beasts don't exceed 125lbs. Big is relative to the pleasure you get out of life. You pick you friends. Who says a Great Dane can't lie down with a lion or romp with a Pug?

Dear Yuffie:
Any truth to the rumor that when you puncture a tennis ball, you can get a high on the gas inside? Could I be busted by the Fuzz for getting a buzz? Hear the Mayor will send you and your owner to a one way trip to the pound if you're found guilty.
Cool Paw Luke

Dear CPL:
What do you think gives us Mastiff's our bounce? It's not easy to sail around the park when your body weight exceeds your aerodynamic lift. Don't worry about the cops. Most of us dogs can outrun a motor scooter any day.

Dear Yuffie:
I'm embarrassed to bring this up... My Mom always warned me as a pup that if I didn't use protective measures, I'd get permanent crud on the end of my nose. Help! It's happened. I'm not sure whether it was the mail carrier or that classy poodle down on sixth street. Believe me, I'm not that kind of dog. I mean I was just sniffing!
Park Prowler

Dear PP:
Don't panic! That's just an old bitch's tale. Sniffing has nothing to do with it. General lack of personal hygiene is the more likely cause. But a cruddy nose certainly is a turn off when it comes to checking out a stranger. I always recommend a little A & D Ointment applied to the area in question. It smells like hell, but everything sloughs off within a matter of hours.

Say, don't I know you from behind the Tennis House?

Dear Yuffie:
My problem is that I'm being scorned--or just ignored--by the media. Every morning, I put on my best smile and head for the Doggie Pond. But do I ever get interviewed? NO. Do I ever get my picture in the New York Times? NO! (By the way--I read your advice telling all of us to read the Times, and I KNOW WHY). Am I ever filmed leaping and smiling and thrashing around in the water? NO!!! Is it because I'm a mixed breed? Is it because my parents have a mixed marriage? Is it because I have a German name? How can I get to be as famous and widely photographed as you?
Brooding--but Handsome--Manfred

Dear BBHM:
My parentage too, is sometimes questioned, sold as I was to a puppy mill in exchange for a bottle of cheap liquor. Don't you just hate the expression: "pet quality?" But if I can do it, you can do it. It's never too late to jump start your media career. Just stick with me, deary, and we'll soon have you featured as the Centerfold in Bark Magazine!

Rule Number One: Whenever you see someone being interviewed, stand behind them. Look sharp and attentive like you've got something to say. If you've got the camerperson's fanny pack in your jaws I guarantee you'll have their attention.

Rule Number Two: Have you ever noticed how the camera goes to those little yappers? Humans think they're so cute! Try losing a few pounds (I'm long overdue) and crouch down on your elbows! With a little luck, and your German nom de plume, they'll think you're a dachshund.

Rule Number Three:
The Press always loves controversy. While I would never, ever suggest you initiate a full fledged dog fight...

Back To Yuffie's Homepage