The Critical Mass

Tiny, tiny turds that can easily be kicked into the gutter

Yet another overly manicured dog is the 2010 Best in Show of the Westminster Kennel Club. A Scotch terrier. Oh, excuse me. Scottish terrier. I’m the Scotch terrier.

Anyway, the night’s winner, Sadie, is perky, lovable and completely useless. She couldn’t hold a tennis ball in her mouth, eviscerate a sock monkey or defend her family from a rogue wolverine. Now, a real dog is this 90-pound thing snoozing next to me on the couch. Snoring, actually. Abilene, the Weimaraner, has just spent the afternoon barking out the window at the work crews replacing the gas lines on our street, and now she is gassed out.

Small, ineffective dogs? I hardly blame them, of course. I blame the English. Particularly Londoners. They’ve spent centuries down-breeding their pets into manageable, rodent-like stature, so that they produce tiny, tiny turds that can easily be kicked into the gutter.

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