So about a month ago, I got a dog. We always had a dog growing up, but this is my first foray into animal ownership as an adult. At first it was really weird . . . I'm used to going where I want and doing what I please and jetting off to foreign countries on a whim and dabbling in a little freelance bounty-hunting on the side and--well, maybe not those last two things, but I'm used to being a free spirit, is what I'm saying.

But now I have this little fifteen pounds of living thing that I have to care for, and that took some getting used to. She looks like a wee German Shepherd, but with a Chihuahua's face, and she's very dainty. Her name is Foxy Brown, and I do not like to think about what unholy union might have produced her, but she's a good little dog. A bit of a diva, but good nonetheless.

And now let's get down to the weirdest part of owning a dog in the city. Because I lack a yard, I have to take Foxy for walks around the neighborhood, and in doing so have unwittingly become a member of The Dog People's Club. And so far it's a really weird club. When you're walking your dog and you pass someone else walking their dog, there's like this whole proper etiquette you must follow: you stand there and let the dogs sniff each other, and you ask questions about each other's dogs. Not once has anyone asked my name; they always ask Foxy's name. And breed. And there's this odd unspoken requirement of reciprocation--when they tell you your dog is beautiful, you must say something nice about their dog. So usually I just say, "Yours, too!" and merrily continue on my way.

Now that we've been walking the same route for a while, we're starting to run into the same people. There's a man and woman that I think of as The Chihuahua Couple, and they're the weirdest by far. One chihuahua is normal (if you call weighing four pounds normal), but the other apparently has no front legs. Instead it has one prosthetic leg that it hobbles around on. And in case you're wondering, no, the prosthetic leg neither looks like an actual dog leg, nor is it a metal hook. It's not even a pegleg. It actually just looks like a cast. On discovering that the cast held not a mending bone as I'd assumed but actually what the owner described as a "bony stump", all I could think to say was, "Wow, well . . . he sure is a brave little guy!"

Oh, and also: the dogs have matching windbreakers. It's insane. I run into The Chihuahua Couple everywhere, and I know the names of their dogs but not them. It's like we're only supposed to be interested in each other's dogs. It's like some exclusive society that you need a membership card to belong to, but then when you meet other members of the society they are only interested in talking to and petting your membership card. Yes, that is a perfectly apt analogy for what this is like. . .

I wonder, is it like this with babies? I bet it is. I bet when you're out walking with your baby and you pass someone else walking their baby you feel pressured to stop and ask how old they are and what their name is. And you also have to remark how cute they are even if you think they are ugly. But, babies grow up. I'm going to be stuck thinking up compliments for a two-legged chihuahua as long as I have my dog.

Dammit. --m