Dogs

One thing that I've gotten to see a lot of in New York is the interaction between two passing dogs. Sometimes they barely notice each other. Sometimes they engage in a little casual flirtation, the equivalent of a few snappy one-liners murmured over a glass of scotch (rocks) and a cosmo at a bar. Sometimes they clown around like drunk frat brothers.

And sometimes there's this hilarious disparity between the reactions of each dog. Like one will be practically wrenching its owner's arm out of its socket, front legs flailing in the air, every molecule of every cell drawn to the other dog like an iron filing to a junkyard magnet, but the other dog could not give a fuck. The one canine is practically hanging itself on its leash trying to make some kind of contact and the other one is busy checking out a particularly interesting patch of sidewalk. There seems to be no rhyme or reason or way of predicting when this will happen. Big dogs flip out for little dogs, attractive dogs lose it for uggos, tiny rat-dogs try to pick fights with Great Danes.

Someone smarter than me might draw a clever analogy between this behavior and the dance of the human sexes in New York. But fuck that, I'm tired and really, could that be any more obvious? Dogs are funny and stupid, end of story.