First they came for Tinker Bell Hilton. Then they came for Bit Bit Spears. And that was just the Chihuahuas.
Next time it could be a teacup Yorkie, a Pomeranian, a Pekinese, or some other minus-sized AKC breed. And a mixed pedigree may offer no defense. Not even the maltipoo is safe.
On any day, anywhere the overprivileged move and shop and have their being, a puppy destined for smallness may be plucked from a diminutive but joyful existence to serve as a portable symbol of the owner’s putative humane impulses during photo opportunities and, more often, of that owner’s ability to move to the head of any line — even while carrying a dog — and be admitted to the inside of any boundary typically demarcated by a velvet rope.
These animals are sometimes referred to as “handbag dogs.” Handbags, however, receive better treatment. They are not left with relatives and forgotten for days on end. Nor are they clutched so hard as to incur structural damage, festooned with supernumerary and constricting ribbons and cozies, or draped across the body like a living stole.
Any creature thus abused, treated as a wardrobe accent rather than a hound in itself, is more properly called an Accessory Dog. While even one animal companion remains an Accessory Dog, no one is truly free.
Therefore we, the members of the Accessory Dog Liberation Front (ADLF), will not rest until every toy terrier and downsized dachshund can fulfill its destiny as a latter-day if seriously wee wolf. This means far more than chow and squeaky toys. No Accessory Dog’s inheritance will be sold for a mess of kibble.
Every Accessory Dog must be free to move under its own power, stand on its own four feet, and feel the ground — or at least the sidewalks of Park Avenue and Rodeo Drive — with all sixteen of its cute and tiny toes.
Heiress and matron, debutante and doyenne, old and new money, beware.
We shall fight in the first-class cabin. We shall fight in the valet parking area. We will fight in the VIP room if we can get on the list. We shall fight in the Plaza when it reopens, and in the Beverly Hills Hotel, though no one may notice. We shall fight up to the thresholds where your doormen glower and await tips for performing no discernible service.
We are everywhere and nowhere.
We are in your midst. We may be your groomer, your veterinarian, your nanny or chef. One of us may be your (art) dealer or your one-night stand.
We can show mercy, but we will neither retreat nor surrender. We have one non-negotiable demand.
Set the dog down.
Do not walk away, do not disregard local leash laws, and by all means pick up and properly dispose of excreta, but set the dog down.
Consider yourselves warned.
This is the New Woof Order.