Dogs Faced Information Overload

I recently took part in the American Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals dog walk in New York City’s Central Park with more than 5,000 dogs of every make and model, and even stranger-looking owners.

The media have affectionately nicknamed the event Woofstock.

After the event’s first five minutes, it was clear we weren’t in Kansas anymore. A Great Dane strolled by wearing a pink tutu and angel wings, followed 20 paces back by a Chihuahua in biker gear.

I met Ivana Trump, whose Yorkie was replete with a diamond-studded collar and purple nails, spinning in circles faster than the Tilt-A-Whirl at Silverwood Theme Park.

I saw a two-legged dog that — I swear this is true — could run on two legs using its tail like a helicopter tail rotor for balance. Stopping was no problem either. It leaned against a tree, a bench, or its owner.

But most pets were special only to their owners, who pranced by in the ultimate mixed-breed pack desperately wanting somebody to notice their fur-covered child and acknowledge it with a look, a smile, or — best of all — a comment.

Talk about harmony. Humans could learn a lesson here. There was a sea of wagging tails and happy eyes with only a rare snarl and even rarer snap.

But not every dog had its day; for some, it was a dog-day afternoon. I saw several dogs leaving Central Park on the edge of a complete nervous breakdown. The hazards of a mega-event like Woofstock took its toll on a few of the more nervous breeds. Far from just a stroll in the park, it was all business for these type-A pets, as if they couldn’t take a beautiful Saturday off without logging on and checking their p-mail.

It was communication overload. They weren’t content with just locking eyes or sniffing each others’ behinds. They had to log onto the dog-walk course and send and receive p-mail.

Central Park has a lot of trees. And in the ultimate nightmare for a tree, many of the 5,000 dogs zeroed in on them with amazing frequency. I could almost imagine an oak yelling to a maple, “Incoming!”

But all dressed up with nowhere to go, the trees were sitting ducks for the dogs who’d just filled up with free water at rest stations. I saw dogs go from tree, to tree, to tree, doing more leg lifts than a Rockette on a caffeine high.

I pitied the poor dogs who walked up and sniffed the tree to check their p-mail. They looked like harried office workers who logged on to find out that they had 45 e-mail messages that needed to be read and responded to. As they hiked their leg, for the hundredth time, I could just see them mentally pushing the button that read, “Forward to all.”

More than one dog probably left Central Park that day thinking, “I’m outta here. I’m done with this rat race. I’m moving to North Idaho, where the pace is slower and dogs never wear costumes.”