Charlotte's Anniversary

Last week the Brooklyn Animal Resources Coalition had a table at the annual Manhattan Avenue Street Fair. Whoopy and I consider the street fair a major milestone in our house because at last year's street fair, Frances bit the bullet and brought Whoopy's and my "foster niece," Charlotte, home to live with us. They had brought the late Nicky from the kennel as a "draw" to inspire adoptions, but lots of folks kept asking about "smaller" dogs. Frances, who was working behind the table, showing folks pictures of dogs in the handsome photo albums Sandra puts together for such occasions, directed people to B.Q.E. Pet Food & Grooming, where the smaller B.A.R.C. dogs are kept, and Tony was taking adoption applications for these canine small fry. As Frances tells it, she was struck by the fear that someone would adopt Charlotte. Even Frances admits that her fear was a bit irrational, though in her defense, I might add that Tony did adopt out the "beloved Tiger" and River Rose. When I remind Whoopy, a former "store dog" of this, she always says, "At least my generation of store dogs found homes, the crew of obnoxious canines they have in there now --Blue and Pedro-- are superfluous mascots at best and belong in the Bronx Zoo." At that she took her rawhide twist off under Frances's desk and dropped it emphatically. I think the girl is starting to feel her age.

Terrifying Toy Spaniel?

Speaking of obnoxious store dogs, I'll continue my update on Charlotte. Anyway, Frances practically ran to the store from Manhattan Ave, terrified that Charlotte would be whisked away to Long Island or parts beyond. (Often I have wished Charlotte in the abyssal depths of the Atlantic, but I digress.) Needless to say, one of Charlotte's fearsome growls deterred prospective owners. (Hell, even a macho top dog like me backs off) After giving Tony a good laugh, Frances and Charlotte toddled off into --no not the sunset-- but rage syndrome, a false pregnancy, emergency hysterectomy, complications from hysterectomy, more rage syndrome (which Frances euphemistically calls "the meanies") and tearful hysterics. The last phenomenon characterizes Frances at each of the former junctures. If Tony thought he was rid of Charlotte, he was wrong. She convalesced after surgery at the B.Q,E., and he and his associates not only had to put up with Charlotte, the Terrifying Toy Spaniel, but Frances, the Concerned Owner.

Dogs of Discipline
Of course, as I have mentioned before in my writing, I took the matter of disciplining Charlotte into my own paws. I limited the time Frances and Charlotte could spend cooing and petting and threatened Charlotte with dismemberment every time she growled.

Charlotte in a Rare
Calm Moment

Whoopy, who also recognized the need for pack discipline, supported me in my efforts. "One snap at Frances and you're dead meat, cocker scum," I threatened.

Whoopy added, "I won't let Otto kill you, but I will bite your leg so you'll never be able to hop upstairs again, young lady." Charlotte knew the game was up and desisted. With Whoopy as role model, she has learned to lift her leg to pee, steal chew toys, lunge on the street, and hate Effie, Whoopy's rival who lives two doors down. She sneaks out for a second walk with me after she and Whoopy have had their walk less and less often, though this is due more to the bodily contortions of Frances and me going out the door than to Charlotte's obedience to the "stay" command. She seems to have the "meanies" less frequently. Order--no thanks to Frances--has been restored to our pack.

No More Dogs
This year I went to the street fair myself. "No more dogs," I had told Frances and Frances emphatically agreed, but I was taking no chances. Well, we had taken chances--on a raffle for a color TV-- but no way was I going to give houseroom to another canine rival for Frances's attention. I had heard a litter of puppies would be coming to the street fair to attract prospective adoptive owners. They did, and they found homes, too.

Raising puppies is harder than raising a baby, Frances said, don't fret on that score. Frances worries about all the stray dogs on the street. Lots of our neighbors have done the right thing and become dog owners, some of them twice over, and although they take food and water out to the strays and neglected lot dogs, they can't adopt another dog.

So Frances and other dog people worry about these strays getting hit by cars or about the dogs wandering into the Navy Yard, where they are sure to be nabbed by the authorities and sent to the Center for Animal Care and Control and death within hours. I was in the streets for two weeks, when I was rescued by my fairy godmother, Kathy. She didn't want a dog--she didn't even want me, but she gave me a chance. She gave me to Eyo, who also gave me a chance. Then, happily, the dog goddess Hecate grabbed Frances by the scruff of her neck and ordered: "You will be patient with Otto and help him do his life's work!" Sort of like St Paul on the road to Damascus. Hence, I became Otto, the Williamsburg Street Retriever, and Otto's Column.

Here's what you can do if you care about dogs and just can't adopt a dog (or another dog) full time.

Stop by B.A.R.C. and volunteer to help. Walk the kennel dogs for a couple of hours. Walking a dog you've never walked before, Frances says, is like walking your first dog. You feel like a human puppy again.
Foster a dog for a weekend or a month. Maybe your heart will be broken when the dog finds a permanent home, but you've given that dog a chance.
Encourage dog ownership. If your dog is friendly, let people get to know your dog. Answer questions about dog training and care. Suggest adopting a shelter dog. Recruit new dog owners!
Buy shares in Otto's start-up biotechnology firm. My firm will be cloning the genes of superlative dog owners. In about 20 years, these clones will be adults, ready to assume responsible dog ownership. Sitcom stars like Eddy on Frasier have been approached to capitalize my scheme. Here's my sales pitch: "Think of the future generations of puppies. We have to get dog owners into mass production. Tony, Vinnie, Sandra, Barbara, and Jean are going into prototype soon. Clinton has delayed things with his stupid moratorium on human cloning. End the moratorium. Let's make the most of these human masterpieces of evolution, that's the way to sanctify life." So far, I have not been successful. Everybody says this is too risky an investment. Then give a donation to B.A.R.C., I say-- at least it's a tax deduction.

Oh I almost forgot to tell you who won the color TV--Rachel Smith. This was just one of the dozen prizes awarded. It might have been fun to win the TV, but at least, this year, we didn't win a dog.

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Veron Cruise veron@bigfoot.com