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I found myself in agreement with the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals the other day, which doesn't happen very often. As an animal rights group, PETA spends a lot of time protesting the consumption of animals. As an animal, I spend a lot of time consuming animals. So you can see why PETA and I don't typically see eye to eye.
But this time, PETA had a point: A quasi-celebrity named Kelly Osbourne had dyed her hair shocking pink--and then went and dyed the hair of her English Bulldog, Piglet, the same color! Using the same human hair dye! The same kind of dye whose chemicals are tested on ... animals!
One can imagine there wasn't too much debate in the PETA boardroom on which side of the issue to stake out. Forget for a second that Kelly's dad once decapitated a bat with his teeth, but here was a dog that had not only been humiliated, but humiliated with a product that's not even suitable for humans--and humiliated for the sole purpose of not clashing with his owner's hair at a Hollywood photo op.
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When asked for a comment, PETA spokesman Michael McGraw told The Boston Herald that "dogs are not fashion accessories. It is very irresponsible to subject a 13-week-old puppy to chemicals that most people aren't willing to put on their heads." But Kelly Osbourne is only the pink erasure on the tip of the pencil. Over the past few weeks, New York City has become the epicenter of celebrities toting their toy dogs around. And these are not genuine celebrities, either. There was Tori Spelling (who is she again?) carrying around a Chihuahua at a Fashion Week event. And you can't swing a dead cat without it hitting Paris Hilton and her little Tinkerbell. Even Mickey Rourke, who hasn't done a solid day's work since "Barfly," was snapped at a sidewalk cafe recently as he dined with his canine Mini-Me, Loki. (Rourke's a serial abuser: Interviewed two years ago by The Times, Rourke cradled his Chihuahua-terrier mix at a table at the Chateau Marmont and "offered her some cappuccino foam.")
I didn't quite know what to make of the dog-carrying trend. I knew where PETA stood, but since we still disagreed over animal-eating, I called Rita Davis, editor of the North Carolina-based Dog and Kennel magazine to get some heartland perspective.
"I don't even know who these celebrities are," she said. "They are doing it to get attention. And they probably need a security blanket."
And then it dawned on me: I crave attention just as much as Paris Hilton, and, given my neuroses, I need a security blanket more than Linus Van Pelt. Clearly, I need to make a dog my co-pilot.
I made a few calls and quickly lined up a loaner canine accessory--a Boston terrier from a friend of a friend of an acquaintance of a friend of mine named Pari Chang--and headed to Pastis, a chic, faux-Parisian cafe downtown where dog-toting quasi-celebrities are often spotted. I was accompanied by New York publicist George Shea, a man who, despite his local anchorman good looks, was voted "Least Likely to Become a Celebrity" by his classmates at Bangor Technical High School.
At Pastis, I could barely make my way to a table, given how many people wanted to snuggle with my dog, whose real name is Iverson, but whom I had dubbed "Pierre Le Chien Magnifique" for the day (see pictures of Shea and myself with Pierre at gershkuntzman.homestead.com/pierre.html). Two European ladies groped Pierre like he was Gerard Depardieu, and then returned to eating without bothering to wash their hands. The other woman even took my picture with Pierre.
When I finally made to my table, Pierre splayed out all over my lap and got dog hair in my coffee. If this is what being a celebrity is all about, count me out. But Shea had caught the dog-as-accessory bug and was playing to the hilt. "Many people would say that a man holding a small dog is fey, but I've never felt more manly," he said, as he grabbed Pierre, put the pup under his arm, and headed to the table of Europeans. The guy doesn't speak a word of French, but here he was, double-air-kissing and saying things like, "Buongiorno, mio amici, ciao." Shea was holding court, thanks to Pierre. "I am approaching fabulousness," he confided.
We spent the rest of the day doing the kinds of things that dog-toting celebrities do. First, we popped into a gallery and mused about how well that $16,000 Hirst would look over the mantle while Pierre humped a priceless sculpture. Then, we went into an expensive soap store and inquired of the clerk whether lavender or honey orange is the appropriate scent for a Boston terrier. We even chatted up another dog-toting man, clearly a non-celebrity, who was carrying his Chihuahua on Ninth Avenue. Shea tried his magic, but the man refused to talk to us.
"The problem, clearly, is not that there are too many dog-carriers, but too few," Shea said. "That guy didn't connect with us because there is just no community for us dog-carriers. Celebrities are leading the way on this."
I still wasn't sure as I caught a subway to return Pierre and allow him to resume his life as Iverson. No one on the train seemed to care that I was holding a dog in violation of subway rules--clearly, a move that only a quasi-celebrity would make. If dog-toting is supposed to get me some attention, it wasn't working on the C train.
At the same time, I couldn't quit figure out why PETA was so worked up over a little exploitation of a lapdog. What was the harm to Iverson (except a few bites of oily fried potatoes off my plate)? Besides, for all I know, that European lady is a paparazzi photographer from Dog Fancy--and Iverson will soon become a quasi-celebrity thanks to being toted around by me.
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