Faced with writing a column during a time of geopolitical turbulence, of picking sides in an uneven conflict, of political posturing within a context of unfathomable death and devastation, I have decided to disavow my responsibility as a member of the free press, retreating from the media minefield to the safety of one powerful exclamation: WOOF!
I am not the only one barking. According to recent estimates, there are 600,000 canine citizens in New York City. Undoubtedly, that number has grown since the pandemic prompted listless and lonely city dwellers to add a mutt to their mailing address. Although I was not an early adopter, I too succumbed to the pup-aganda perpetrated by social media savvy adoption agencies that rescue and relocate death-row dogs in the Dirty South with a one-way Greyhound ticket to the Big Apple (which are safe for dogs to eat in moderation). Spayed, microchipped, and apparently carrying ringworm, a part pitbull named Opal disembarked from a transport outside the PetSmart in Flatiron and trotted into my care.
As I discovered in my first few w…