On reality television.

Neighbors, after a long, hot summer, this writing dog is back at the keyboard. As usual, there is much going on in our Selby/Kent neighborhood. And, as usual, I have things to say.

As my furry tailed nemeses run about hoarding chow for the winter, lawn signs spring up like tulips in May, and my humans’ recycling bin overflows with postcards about this Tuesday’s upcoming Election Day when Ward One will choose its next city councilmember.

With all due respect to both candidates, this race is indicative of how elections work in our country. Messages are diluted, constituents confused. I mean, seriously, check out two of the headlines from this week’s postcards:

Candidate #1: “The Clear Choice for City Council”
Candidate #2: “For Ward One. For City Council. The Choice is Clear."

And then, rhetoric of how one candidate has lived here forever, one candidate just recently moved back, one is experienced, one is much younger, one is male, one is female. Each writes about what they believe in, what they will do for the city, and why they deserve the vote.

This is my challenge for candidates to stop the madness and show us their true stuff.

Here’s the deal. When I am President (yes, I’m considering running in 2012 (I’ll be 35 years old in dog years) if, for no other reason, then to unseat President Colbert), elections will be handled differently. They will speak to the American public on a level it has come to love and to understand.

That’s right folks, I am talking about reality TV’s latest hit, “The Next City Councilmember!”

On this show, each candidate will live, for six months prior to the election, with a family in one of the most economically-distressed areas of the Ward. They will receive a small stipend for living expenses, a bus card, and, most importantly, will be forbidden to campaign in any way. They will be challenged to ensure the family’s 1) long term safety, 2) employment, 3) sufficient supply of food and clothing, and 4) safe, affordable housing.

Whichever candidate has done this by the end of the six months will have earned their seat.

Until then, stop the mailings, stop the comparisons, stop the pretty pictures of smiling heroes and the people who didn’t know how to say “No, thanks, I don’t want to be in a campaign photo.” Candidates, whichever of you wins, I beg of you, do something and do it fast.

Be the clear choice that is clearly clear.

Until next time, I’m Selby, waiting for Tuesday’s results. See you on the Avenue.

On sticking together.

Dogs are pack animals. We have a leader, our alpha animal, who dominates and leads the rest of us around. We usually have an alpha male and alpha female, with the rest of the group falling into some combination of dominance (love it) and submission (not a fan). We always know where we stand and, we always know who is looking out for us.

Out for my morning walk, I am often struck by the solitude of you humans. One by one, you pass me on Summit Avenue. Some of you are on bicycles, some of you chasing squirrels and rabbits (why else would you be running?), and some of you (humans after my own heart), having a nice leisurely stroll – perhaps stopping for a sniff or two. What is all of this traveling alone? Where is your pack?

I think you humans secretly want to find a pack. You know how I know?

We recently had a mugging in our neighborhood. Some not so nice people had guns and took the gym bag of a very nice person. The humans around me grew concerned and some, dare I say, freaked out. That’s understandable. What surprised me even more was what came next. The humans in my neighborhood formed a pack!

My human planned a crime watch meeting at our house. The neighborhood pack, an impressive 32 strong, came out to learn how to “take a bite out of crime” (sorry, McGruff, that’s too good not to use) and feel safer in their homes. Neighbors met neighbors, interesting conversation ensued, and people left feeling connected. How cool is that?

I am all for this type of behavior. However, if you humans are truly going to band together as a pack, here are important tips from dogs and other animals living in groups:

– Herds of elephants: Young elephants are led by the older elephants with their tails. The entire herd will protect the young ones if there's any sign of danger. In other words, “It takes a village.”

– Towers of giraffes: Groups of 40 and 50 giraffes are common. It has to do with a concentration of their favored foods on a specific location. Translating for humans: Bake chocolate chip cookies, leave the windows open, and see how quickly your neighbors cluster near your door. Poof. Instant herd.

– Pods of whales: Whales in pods protect each other from predators. Think of it as an oceanographic block club.

Neighbors in the Selby/Kent area, I’m proud of you for banding together. I love seeing you stop to talk on the street and I’m even happier when you give me a little scratch. Keep it up. Let those gun-waving bullies (and anyone even thinking about it) know that they are not welcome here. In our neighborhood, we stick together.

Until next time, I’m Selby, a proud member of the Selby/Kent pack. See you on the Avenue.

On dinosaurs.

It’s been said that clothing fashion returns every 20 years. I think that’s true, considering the number of bell bottom jeans in the windows of vintage clothing stores, and showing up on the non-hips of the young and hip.

There’s been a recent showing of another blast from the past—dinosaurs. If they have a recycle period, it seems to be once every 65 million years. Part of the Science Museum of Minnesota’s “Diggin’ Dino’s” project, they are everywhere – at local businesses, in parks, and near event centers. They stand proud, wearing banners and signs, demonstrating a performance art style that would do Yoko Ono proud. On any given day, they stand for photo shoots, allow kids to climb on them, and wince as the occasional dog mistakes them for a fire hydrant (present company excluded, of course.)

Seeing these critters got me thinking of other things that have returned:

The VW Beetle.
1935 - “People’s Car” prototype on the autobahn.
1960s - Love Bug.
1990s - Car of choice for retro-hipster Internet bubble bursters.

M&Ms.
1941 – Sent to GIs who couldn’t shoot weapons with chocolate on their hands.
1954 – Peanut.
1990s – Peanut butter. Almond. (Does anyone actually eat these?)
2007 – Addams Family dark chocolate (Comfort food has become creepy and kooky.)

Cher.
1965 – Sonny’s hair-flinging, "I Got You Babe"-singing counterpart.
1980s – One word. Moonstruck.
2000 and beyond. – Drag queen. (Wigs. Costumes. Fabulous!)

All of this reminds me.

It reminds me that gone doesn’t always mean forever (although you never know, appreciate while it's here.) It reminds me that, while shiny and new is nice, old and familiar can be even better. I see this every day as houses in our neighborhood are re-worked, as neighbors pull together to restore a sense of community, and as the next generation of world-saving, hip-hugger/bell bottom-wearing college kids takes its place in history. Good stuff.

I wonder what’s next to hit the recycling circuit. Another Police reunion tour? Eight track tapes? Peace, love, and understanding? Time will tell and I'm looking forward to it.

Until next time, I’m Selby, just waiting for Cher’s next farewell tour. Like all good dinosaurs, she will be back. See you on the Avenue.

On city life.

This writing dog is an urbanite. I live close to downtown St. Paul on a hill named for the Cathedral at the eastern end of my street. Life is good here. My humans and I have wonderful neighbors who are always ready with a kind word and a scratch (for me – my humans aren’t so much for being scratched.) At this writing, summer is in full bloom and my street is all abustle with shoppers, restaurant diners, and pet owners walking their dogs in the beautiful weather.

When I am out for my walks, I marvel at the variety of sites and sounds in this area we call Selby/Dale. Of course, being a scent hound, my nose is ever to the grindstone of tracking things that smell good to me. Lately, this includes:

1) Rabbits: LOVE them and would like to bring one home as a toy – unfortunately, am never allowed close enough to capture
2) Squirrels: DO NOT love them but do believe they deserve to be terrorized – am happy to do my part
3) Food wrappers and other inanimate objects (I’m talking about litter, people): smell FANTASTIC – I use these as a way to expand my culinary horizons

While I enjoy them immensely, each of these olfactory treats has become a neighborhood pest in its own right. Squirrels and rabbits are digging up gardens as the litter de-beautifies my otherwise glorious neighborhood.

Being an environmental advocate (I strongly believe we should have an environment), I did some research on the effects of litter. At the risk of sounding Al Goresque, I invite you to check out this information from the California waste management bulletin:

– A glass bottle takes approximately 1 million years to decompose
– An aluminum can takes 200 – 500 years
– A cigarette butt takes 2 to 5 years

Sorry to be harsh, but I blame you humans for this. I do not eat fast food, smoke, or drink beer – so I know the trash ain’t mine. What I do know is that it’s not good for me, my canine counterparts, or my human neighbors.

For those of you who are old enough to remember, I remind you of a TV public service announcement that debuted on Earth Day, 1971. Remember Native American actor Chief Iron Eyes Cody and his famous teardrop? The tagline read: "People Start Pollution. People can stop it." It was memorable, it was manipulative, and, it was repeated in 1998. The new headline, “Back By Popular Neglect” brought a strong message about litter prevention and individual responsibility. (If you are not old enough to remember this, ask anyone over the age of 40 – the famous teardrop was guilted into our long term memory.)

Please people – clean up. When you’re out and see trash just pick one thing up and put it in the nearest trash can. It does wonders for your waistline and builds all kinds of lovely karma. Whether or not it is your mess, I ask you to think about keeping me safe, giving yourself something beautiful to look at – and preserving our neighborhood pride.

Until next time, I’m Selby and I never want to see that TV commercial again. See you on the Avenue.

On Minnesota weather.

People, it’s early July and it is h-o-t outside.

I am a Minnesota dog which means, like my human counterparts, I can get a bit preoccupied with the weather. It’s easy to do here because, as we all know, if you don’t like it right now, “wait five minutes and it will change.”

Well, I’ve been waiting more than five minutes and this heat just won’t break. I’m resigned to lying by the fan and eating ice cubes. That’s why I have to find cheap entertainment – like eavesdropping.

Being a most curious canine, my ears stay tuned to conversations outside my window. Things I’ve recently overheard: “Damn global warming,” “Sure is hot today,” and, my personal favorite, “Hot enough for ya?” (My human once responded to a co-worker, “Why no, I’d like it to be even warmer so that I could barely move at all.” That was met with a blank stare.)

Sometimes, entertaining me includes thinking of the things I just don’t get about you humans. Here’s one. It’s a zillion degrees in the shade (yes, quite hot enough for me) and, all over the city, you are cooking something called “hotdogs” on a fire in the backyard. Folks, have you looked at me? I am a dog. I am hot. I am not particularly appetizing. In fact, historically speaking, hotdogs have not ever been appetizing. Check this out:

In 1836 a New York newspaper declared, "Sausages have fallen in price one half, in New York, since the dog killers have commenced operations."

That is just plain nasty.

If you are someone who enjoys cooking the little darlings over an open flame, please call them something else. You can say “frankfurters” after Frankfurt, Germany, where they make them out of pork or “wieners” after Vienna, Austria, (“Wien” in German) where they use a mixture of pork and beef. Call them whatever you want, but don’t use the word hotdog in my presence.

Better yet, eat some cold food. Google “cold summer meals” and you will see a doggone lot of recipes geared to get you away from an open flame. Or, if you want a real treat, walk over to Mississippi Market for a smoothie or Great Harvest Bakery where rumor has it they’re going to start selling ice cream.

Whatever you decide, it seems like it’s going to be a whole lot of five minutes before this weather changes. Enjoy, because in a few months I’ll be asking if it’s cold enough for ya.

Until next time, I’m Selby and I am a hot dog. Keep that mustard away from me.

On early mornings.

This neighborhood makes an early start.

First, the buses (the 21A starts at 4:14 a.m.), then the newspaper deliveries, then my counterparts and their humans, then - around 6 a.m. - The Whistler.

A few times each month, The Whistler stands at the bus stop across from our house, under an old lamppost. In the early morning light, his graceful movements (Tai Chi, I think) capture me as I watch from our upstairs window. Next comes the music.The Whistler's songs float through our window, sometimes waking my humans before the alarm clock (awful sounding thing). My personal favorite is "Beautiful Dreamer," but he has a few other selections as well.

I don't know much about The Whistler. I know that he is tall, rides the bus, wears a small, multicolored fez. I also know that he has the power to set the tone (no pun intended) of my humans' day.

I love whistling, but not everyone does. As it turns out, there are superstitions around whistling:

- Whistling in theater is considered unlucky. Before electronic communication, sailors worked as stage hands to manage the rope systems used for on stage flight. Coded whistles were used to call cues. Whistling on stage could cause an early cue and bring bad luck in the performance.
- In Russia and other Slavic cultures, whistling indoors is said to bring poverty ("whistling money away"). It is OK to whistle indoors.
- In Serbia, whistling indoors is thought to bring mice. (Like the Pied Piper, I suppose.)

Get over it.

In my neighborhood, whistling signifies the start of a day. It shows that one person can make a difference. It costs nothing and doesn't take a lot of training--although I suspect The Whistler spends plenty of time practicing. Of course, there are ways to turn this into a really big deal. You can join the "International Artwhistling Philharmonic Society" (yes, this exists), attend the "International Whistlers Forum" (2009, North Carolina), or even participate in "Orawhistle" - an online whistlers forum.

That seems like a lot of work. My advice to you is this:

Whistle. Whistle at your bus stop. Whistle while you work (if it's good enough for seven dwarfs it's good enough for you). Or, better yet, if whistling doesn't toot your horn, do something else for your neighborhood. Plant a flower. Pick up trash. Get to know your neighbors.

Think globally, whistle locally.

If you find yourself on Selby Avenue some morning, just east of Dale Street, be quiet. Listen for The Whistler. Let him be a lesson to all of us.

Until next time, I'm Selby and I'll be Beautiful Dreaming on the avenue.

On being a dog.

It’s interesting, this being a dog.

On one hand, we’re “man’s best friend” (pardon the gender reference). Who wouldn’t want this? A best friend who is fed and housed and exercised and, if you’re lucky like me, scratched and cuddled every day by three kids.

On the other hand, there’s a lot of negative connotation out there: going to the dogs, dog tired, doggy bag (never shared with me), dog’s dinner, dog eat dog (not even true – only the occasional sniff) and, my personal favorite, a dog’s life. Check this out:

dog's life. n. Slang. A miserably unhappy existence. This expression was first recorded in a 16th-century manuscript and alludes to the miserable subservient existence of dogs during this era. By the 1660s there was a proverb: "It's a dog's life, hunger and ease."

Are you kidding me? Let’s do a short comparison. Today, I strolled down the avenue sharing my name, chased squirrels, ate food, slept, and repeated the loop. Multiple times.

My human got up extra early to walk me, fed me, spent a whole bunch of time answering emails and grumbling, put on uncomfortable clothing, rushed out of the house so as not to miss the bus, spent a lot of hours in an office building, came home, made dinner, fed me again, walked me again, did laundry, then went to sleep.

I ask you: Who is the dog?

St. Paul-ites, summer is approaching and I want to see some changes. Here are my tips for having a dog’s life of a summer:

1) Explore your neighborhood. I find it fascinating to do this with my nose about ½ inch off the ground, but follow your own particular style.
2) Meet a neighbor. Sniffing each other’s backside is completely optional.
3) Take a nap. I don’t want to hear “but, I have to work.” It’s not that interesting anyway, and you know it. Just take a nap.
4) Chase a squirrel. Seriously. They are a nuisance and deserve to be chased.
5) Eat some food. I enjoy “Newman’s Own” but I also understand that there are some pretty fantastic restaurants in this town. Enjoy them. (Don’t pretend the doggy bag is for your dog.)
6) Repeat the loop. Multiple times.

Have a dog’s life, people. Until next time, I’m Selby, and I’ll just be repeating the loop. See you on the avenue.