Pet-o-philia: Our society is going to the dogs

One characteristic of a societal psychosis is that it's generally invisible to us. It's always there, right under our noses, feet, tables and maybe even on our chairs, but it just feels like a natural, healthy part of the family. Such is the case with our latest social affliction, petophilia, an inordinate affection for pets.

Before you start the denunciatory letter to the editor (BTW, another characteristic of a social psychosis), at least hear-out the evidence.

It used to be that dogs were man's best friend. No more. We're their best friends. "Pets" is no longer an adequate term to describe the Canis domesticus and felines of the Western world. Fido and Fluffy are now a consumer demographic that makes the iPod-adorned tweens and Euro-vacationing yuppies seem like penny pinchers. Thanks to us, our pets give new meaning to unbridled purchasing power.

How does this sound as a locale for a get-away? Huge indoor rooms, outdoor terraces, cozy fireplace, natural and holistic foods, massage therapy and reiki, lots of TLC, and a cedar play structure in each room. Drop any fantasies of you and the honey cuddling-up in front of the fireplace for a frisky week-end. Unless you plan on going with your cat. Those amenities are the ad copy for an Ottawa-area cat spa and retreat. Dear, I think puddy-kins really needs a break from the same old same old. Gone is the "cat person". It's show time for the cat crazed. And if your neck of the woods is like mine, pet spas like this one catering to all breeds are the new boom business.

But we're not just happy to fork-over big bucks for cat massage, it's when fluffy gets sick that our level of petophilia really shines. I recently came across a "lost cat" poster that pleaded for help to get the tabby back quickly because she needed her meds. We accept our own inordinately long emergency room waits and line-ups for hip surgery with indignation and grumbling, but when it comes to our pets the VISA card is on the counter in a flash. My dad made an emergency return flight from Portugal to be with his basset when it needed emergency hip surgery — no wait required.

Listen, I'm not a raving pet hater. I'm the one in our family who 15 years ago wanted the dog, and bonded instantly with her in the shelter when our eyes met. Now I care for this "old lady" when she's deaf (or selectively hard of hearing, it's hard to tell) and sporadically incontinent. And we've been soul-mates of a sort. At the dentist's when I try to take my mind off the drill in my mouth, I think about Tessa running across a verdant field. There's something so relaxing about the pure, unfettered joy and energy of this motion. And I enjoy the iconic dog stories like Lassie and Ol' Yeller, the motif of the faithful, brave furry friend.

But now we've travelled from pooch as trusted friend to doggy Zen master. According to the best selling Marley and Me: Life and Love with the World's Best Dog by American journalist John Grogan, your relationship with your dog can be the way to all of life's big lessons. That the title plays on the über-best selling Sundays with Morley says it all. The latter chronicles another journalist's experiences through the death of his aged college professor. Morley and Marley are as one. As the caption to a recent American Apparel ad of a hound in a t-shirt in a provocative rub-my-tummy pose put it: Mutts are people too. We've reached the era of dog-ilosophy. It's only a matter of time until we see the Church of Dog.

My Danish uncle's house-bound because he doesn't trust his dog into anyone else's care. My New York city aunt keeps her late dogs ashes in a closet with those of her late husband and her fathers. And at my local health food store I'm starting to have to search between the homeopathic dog drops and the organic dog biscuits for my herbal deodorant. (In fact, last Valentine's day I realized that the bone-shaped doggy cookies in a bag with heart stickers and a red bow looked like the most appealing treat, for human or hound, in the store).

But what's most telling about our pet obsession is that al-Qaeda hasn't touched it. If there's one egregious example of Western decadence, of a consumer society that's lost its moral compass, it's LA's Latino nannies stooping to pick-up dog turds while earning less than their employers spend on Striker's shampoo and paw-icure. No, Osama's PR folks have wisely advised that he stay clear of this one. They know better than to draw the ire of Western petophiles. Now that would be a war on terror with bite.