We love our dogs in Central Oregon.

How much?  About half of all households have at least one dog.  Of those, a large percentage has two dogs so they can hear barking in stereo.  Some have enough dogs to form a gospel choir.  These people are so sweet, hearts of gold, really; but they TALK REALLY LOUD.

Also, in Central Oregon, instead of four-way traffic stops, we have roundabouts.  Some people call them traffic circles.  A lot of these roundabouts have artwork in the middle which is always a point of contention.

One sculpture is entitled “Phoenix Rising.”  We aren’t that cultured here so most folks just call it “Chicken with its Butt on Fire.” 

Rumor is the artist was inspired when a group of Central Oregon dog lovers saw yet another dog being left in the car, (even though it was in the shade with the windows down, like that really matters, you pinheads) and were so enraged, they burned the owner in effigy.

I’m pretty sure all of that story is true except for the effigy part.  We LOVE our dogs.

Saturday we had the annual Best in Show Dog Walk that benefits the Humane Society of Central Oregon.  It was a great turnout (duh!) and when the multitudes and their dogs went marching through downtown, not a single head was turned.  It just really didn’t stand out that much.

The dogs were grouped in distinct classes.  The first group was “Toy.” 

The owners of “toy” dogs are generally either female or under the age of 8.  Real men, Central Oregon men; do not walk balls o’ fluff.

Central Oregonians take great pride in their toughness.  One’s fortitude is measured by one’s ability to withstand discomfort without complaint, the size of one’s muscles and copious amounts of body hair.

On the other hand, for the Central Oregonian men, it’s the size of their Harleys.

The biking community here is almost as big as the dog owners.  Roughly 90% of all motorcycles you see are Harley-Davidsons.  Those who own other brands are called “weenies” and if, God forbid, you should drive a Vespa, you might as well cut off your male plumbing and wear it as a hat because you are in for some cold, lonely nights, my friend.

The little Sportster is considered a “starter” bike with the real he-men and he-women going for something like a Heritage Softail Classic, Dyna Super Glide or Road King.

Central Oregonian women ride Harleys, too.  I was behind one the other day that was so massive, at certain angles it blocked out the sun.  It required more than two wheels.  The woman who was riding it had chosen as the message on her license-plate frame, “It’s not cute; it’s a Harley, … (insert bad word here.)”

So you don’t see too many folks in their full riding leathers walking fuzzballs which is probably a good thing.  If these people of substantial size were to trip and fall, you would be able to clean up the remains of Little Pinky Foo Foo with a Handi-wipe.

After the “Toy” class, it was time for the “Terriers.”

I could really feel for the terrier owners.  Every single leash, without exception, was strung out its full length and was so taut; you could bounce a dime off it if you chose to do so.  I have a Jack Russell Terrier, Scooby, and Scully is a poodle mixed with something which I suspect is some kind of terrier.  Their favorite game during walkies is “Make a Wish.”  I, and those other terrier owners, have extra long arms, sometimes only on one side, and it is very hard for us to buy anything in long sleeves.

Next came the “Hounds” and “Working Dogs.”  These guys were such good doggies!  They heeled, right at their master’s side and they obeyed.  I tried my best to get Scooby to look at the good doggies but he gave me this smile that said, “You’re so cute when you’re stupid” and piddled on my foot.

The “Large” dog class followed.  The other dog owners were so very smug as they carried their cute little biodegradable poop bags that were handed out but the “Large” dog owners grimly dragged behind them Hefty Lawn and Leaf Cinch Saks as they trailed their pooches.  They did not smile much.

The last group was “Mixed Breed” which was, of course, the most popular class as we here, in Central Oregon, love our mutts.  I imagine your community must also do so.  People here are a little adamant about it, though.  When someone walks up to me and asks if Scooby is a purebred Jack Russell Terrier, I answer “Yes, but we still got him from the Humane Society.  Would you like to see the documentation?”   These are papers I always have on me for just such an occasion because, after all, I do not want to be the inspiration for new roundabout art.

Woof.