Katy McDermott

People are boring.

This was the only conclusion I could reach after a recent visit to a pet supply store. Animal stuff is just so much more exciting than human stuff. And the clientele is pretty exciting too – large dogs dislocate their owners’ shoulders straining at leashes, small dogs launch themselves four feet in the air to lick the face of anyone who glances their way, unkempt dogs wrestle with groomers (and leave with bows in their hair that will last approximately 6.5 seconds), Shih Tzus sniff the butts of Dobermans. What human store offers such raw drama?

And the merchandise is stop-in-your-tracks astonishing. A friend of mine got a puppy not long ago, so I visited a pet supply store to pick up some toys and treats on my way to meet him.

Wow. Good thing I’m not a vegetarian (although I’m beginning to consider it!)

The dog treat aisle at your average pet supply store is a PETA member’s worst nightmare – actual cow hooves, “pork chips” made of pig skin, and my all-time gross-out favorite: beef trachea. (Ingredients: beef trachea. Honestly, what can you add to that?)

There are also lots of toys designed by people who are humorous, sadistic, or both. Toys in the shape of feet and fire hydrants and ducks. Toys that squeak. Toys that mimic the calls of migratory birds. (Which must be such a welcome sound to dog owners at 3:00 in the morning. I can just picture the scene: a bleary-eyed, pajama-clad husband mumbling, “Honey, did you forget to put the goose out again?”)

Increasingly, dog clothes are becoming quite the thing, and this particular store had a rack dedicated to coats, t-shirts, booties (yes, booties), and even caps for every size and shape of chilly hound. Perusing the t-shirts was especially fun, as it was clear some anonymous copywriter had a hoot and a half coming up with these slogans: “Desperate Housedog,” “I Chase Tail,” and my personal favorite, “Bitch Magnet.”

But these stores don’t just cater to dogs, of course. Cat accoutrements take up roughly the same amount of shelf space as dog accessories, and what cats’ equipment lacks in evisceration of larger species, it makes up for in sheer perversity. Most cat toys are designed – on purpose – to make cats crazy. This claim is emblazoned on many of the packages containing everything from laser lights to remote-control mice: “Makes cats crazy!” As if that’s somehow a desirable thing, as if cats are overly sedate by nature.

Clearly, the manufacturers have never met an actual cat.

We have several, and I’ve had many in my lifetime. Far from being sedate, most cats I’ve known could benefit from being sedated. They chase imaginary leaves, for God’s sake, and rocket from room to room, slamming into walls, for no reason at all. You want a cat toy idea? How about Valium-filled furry mice?

At a pet supply store, you can even find an entire aisle dedicated to hamster wheels and treats for your guinea pig (“Veggie Puffs – Rodents Love ’Em!”). Which makes me wonder: how can you tell if a guinea pig has been especially good and deserves a treat?

Then there are the lizards. Full disclosure: I’m not a reptile person, but I admit I fail to see why anyone would pay good money for a Burmese Python who looks like its favorite snack would be your fingers.

But back to the mammalian clientele for a moment (snakes creep me out, and I’d like to change the subject…) Aside from people, of course, most of the customers you see in these stores are dogs. (Have you ever seen a cat on a leash? Of course not – they’re too busy chasing imaginary leaves.) The dogs add most of the entertainment value.

A few months back, I accompanied my friend as she took her “puppy” (I use the quotation marks advisedly – he’s a Chesapeake Bay Retriever, and at that time weighed something like 40 pounds) to get his shots at the in-store veterinary clinic. As she signed papers, she turned Phineas over to me, with instructions to “let him pick out a treat.” I did my best to control him – and at the very least, I did prevent him from eating an appetizer-sized Chihuahua.

But Phin had some definite opinions when it came to choosing a treat for himself. I tried to interest him in a normal-sized bone, and even proffered a genuine pig’s ear. Phin, however, was insistent. He’d chosen a peanut-butter-filled rawhide bone roughly the size of his own foreleg, and trotted up to my friend with an air of such joyous possession that she had no choice but to buy it for him. One glance at his floppy ears and hopeful eyes was all it took. It kind of made me wish I was a dog.

That’s the true magic of the pet supply store. Otherwise responsible adults spend actual money – money they could use to pay bills or buy groceries! – on ferret hammocks and elaborate scratching posts. Dogs are aware of this – in fact, they exploit it, which explains the market for foreleg-sized rawhide bones. Of course, I wouldn’t buy overly expensive and largely useless items for my pets. Those Christmas stockings filled with tuna-flavored treats and chase toys that make crinkly sounds were exceptions – after all, it was the holidays…

It turns out that people aren’t just boring. They’re also suckers.