Re. tiny dog phenomenon...they seem to have a bit of a thing for tiny dogs in New York but they usually seem to be owned by muscley gay gym bunnies (on Canal Street at least!)
(article by Michael Rosen)
I feel the tiny dog phenomenon to be a puzzling business, but when one of these benighted freaks starts attacking things several times its size I find their mad tenacity a joy to behold. It was precisely such a display of dwarf-dog fury that led to the following exchange between a pair of staggering drunks who had made the mistake of trying to caress one of these hand-held heartbeats and come of second best.
Woman: (getting as angry as you can without spilling your drink) “The fucker bit me!”
Man: (foolishly opting for admonishment over sympathy) “You should never have touched it. They’re not right”
Woman: (detonating) “He said it were alright!”
Man: (voice thick with self-made wisdom) “You can’t trust folk with these dogs. They’ll say ‘owt.”
Woman: “It started off licking me hand. Then it went for me. You heard it.”
Man: “Ask someone what their dog’s like and they’ll tell you it’s great, even while it’s got its jaws on you, they’ll be telling you it’s trying to make friends.”
Woman: (looking for signs of injury to her hand and finding nothing that might merit litigation) “Little bastard.”
Man: (making a huge but somehow valid leap of comparative reason) “It’s like the Krays. Their mum always said they was alright. Different story when they’re breaking your fuckin’ legs with a hammer.”
Woman: “What you on about, hammers?”
Man: “Dogs!”
Woman: (staring at her hand again) “Little bastard.”
Man: “Aye.”
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