LIFESTYLES OF THE RICH AND FURRY

If you have young children, it’s only a matter of time until you are subjected to pleas for a pet. Dog, cat, gerbil, baby alligator -- it’s all pretty much the same.

“Daddy, look what followed me home from school today.”

“Why that’s--“

“Can we keep him? Huh? Can we?”

“--the Buckman’s Schnauzer.”

“No it’s not.”

“Then why does this dog tag say ‘Property of the Buckmans’?”

Like many parents before us, we succumbed to the pressure, ignored our better judgment and purchased a dog for our oldest son. Two years and an endless supply of carpet stains later, our younger son tricked us into adding a cat to the mix.

“Daddy, look what followed me home from school today.”

“A kitten?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, isn’t that one of those kittens your teacher was trying to give away?

“Uh…not really.”

So now the dog chases the cat around the house -- at least until it has the little thing cornered. Then, the cat turns into the dog’s worst nightmare.

Still, I’ve grown to love these two furballs, and I now consider them an important part of the family. I play with them, sneak them treats from the dinner table and generally engage in a healthy higher species-lower species relationship.

But I’ve noticed that some pet owners do not know where to draw the line.

I’m speaking specifically of the citizens of Palm Beach, Florida. In this affluent community, the average home costs well over $1 million, the women schedule cosmetic surgery like they’re scheduling a manicure and the men dabble in thoroughbreds (both the four-legged and two-legged varieties).

The dogs in Palm Beach live better than most people I know. Many have their own chefs, recline on poolside chaise lounges and travel by limousine and yacht. For kicks (or is it bites?), they attend lavish birthday parties thrown in honor of one of their furry brethren. The canine social calendar also includes an annual charity ball and a yearly Halloween celebration.

Now, one Palm Beach resident has even created a society magazine to publicize and report on all the purebred social events. Published by Joanne Cutner, the owner of a well-groomed Lhasa Apso named Mr. Churchill, "Palm Beach Pet Society" features photos of more than 100 housepets at home and at play. Included among these is a snapshot of the editor -- a spectacled Mr. Churchill -- working on the computer at his desk.

Okay, let me state up front that a person who names their dog or cat “Mr.” anything is immediately suspect in my mind. Mr. Waddles, Mr. McMuffin, Mr. Churchill -- I don’t care. Anyone committing this offense should be collared, then pelted with chewed up dog toys, especially the ones that make those obnoxious squeaks.

My bigger complaint, however, is with the unbridled decadence exhibited by Palm Beach pet owners. Despite the fact that money appears to grow on trees in this zip code, or maybe because of it, there are areas in Palm Beach and the surrounding communities where you can find plenty of homeless people. It wouldn’t surprise me if some held signs reading: “I will work for your dog’s food.”

To spend $10,000 on a dog’s birthday party, then see it glorified in a 44-page glossy magazine, simply seems wrong to me. At this year’s Halloween bash, 400 pooches were in attendance, each one in costume. Of course, no two dogs dressed alike.

Now, I’m sure many Palm Beach residents make significant contributions to charity. I guess my point here is this: If they are spending thousands of dollars on their poodle’s coming out party, then maybe they aren’t contributing enough.

How many human beings could be fed with the money spent on the annual Halloween party? How many units of low-income housing could be built with the money spent annually on doggie birthday parties?

I don’t know the answers to these questions, but in Palm Beach, Florida, this much is certain: The poor and the homeless are not man’s best friend.

(c) Marc L. Prey 2002
All rights reserved.