Should Dogs Be Allowed in Restaurants?

We had a pet once. A goat. Why we had a goat I couldn’t tell you. It was just there in our yard, and we didn’t live in a barn, so it was a pet. Plus, we gave it a name. Or I did. Francis, I think—the name of one of those guys who came to visit my older sister. Francis, the goat, not the guy, ate everything. Maybe Dad got him to be a lawnmower because our front yard alone was huge. (We didn’t bother to cut anything in the jungle in the back of the house.) Trouble was Francis ate not only the grass but the leaves off any plant within his reach. Once he ate Mom’s prized Golden Coconut seedling, leaving nothing but the husk fit only for making bunot the floor. (I ran out of English.) Mom hated that goat. Particularly when he got loose and threatened the orchids in her greenhouse. We had the job of catching the ornery animal and tying him to something he couldn’t pull up or eat. I tell you, goat wrangling is not easy, especially because that gluttonous goat shat everywhere, turning our nicely mowed front yard into a minefield of marble-sized goat shit. Well, so much for Francis. Suffice it to say I never had another pet.

Now here I am in an eating establishment looking at a dog sitting on a chair at the next table. How the dog got in I have no idea, but it’s obvious that the humans at the same table love the dog to bits. The female human keeps making googoo eyes at the dog, and the male—I swear to you—is engaging in baby talk: You cutie, cutie pie. Why you not take a bath today, ha, cutie-pigx?

Clearly, as you trolls out there will say, I am bias, but isn’t there some city ordinance, congressional act, or constitutional provision that prohibits seating animals in the same place as humans? I get that toy dog house pets are trained, vaccinated, groomed and bathed (well, except for cutie-pigx), but still, shouldn’t there be mandated segregation where dogs eat only in dogs-only establishments? What you do in the privacy of your own homes is your business, my dear pet owners, but shouldn’t we non-animal-lovers be spared the distress of sharing space in our favorite restaurants with less-than-human creatures. I mean, honestly, how can I be expected to resist those puppy dog eyes and not give him a piece of my food?

I worry that if another pet dog is somehow brought in, this docile table-neighbor of mine—let’s call him Franz, in honor of you know who—will suddenly bolt and start barking, even growling with menace aforethought, to establish his alpha-ness over the newcomer. I’ve seen it happen in the mall corridors, and the pet-parents can’t do anything but smile sheepishly, never doggishly, only in an ovine manner. All that barking would be almost as bad as all the waiters gathering around a table, flash-mob style, to sing a raucous, tuneless “Happy Birthday” accompanied by tambourines and maracas. Come on. We should have Peace on Earth and in Restaurants, right?

And let’s look at this from the poor dog’s point of view. Franz doesn’t want to be in a restaurant wearing a diaper. Dogs want to be free, unfettered by etiquette, unburdened by choices of entrées, unembarrassed by attire. I know because they told me. To quote one dog named Kiko, a well-mannered AsPin, “I’d much rather be splayed out in front of the TV, gnawing on my very own crispy pata bone, watching the cute Chinese actress in ‘Youthful Glory’ who looks like a cross-eyed rabbit. A fancy restaurant? No way. What if I have to fart?”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

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