Can a dog have a pet peeve? Well, I am a pet. But am I a peeve?
The origin of this word, of course, is from America. While a pet is something cherished, a peeve is short for peevish, meaning ornery or ill-tempered. The phrase was used ironically and became popular when Frank King published cartoons in the Chicago Tribune he called “King’s Pet Peeves.” It was his take on cracking jokes about the annoying things people do, like being backseat drivers.
Well, I have pet peeves. How about the dog with no name? Yes, a person had a dog with no name. He called him Dog. Can you imagine? I’ve heard some men call other men “man.” I have even heard women calling each other “girl.” I even have a cousin named Girl. But calling your pet Dog? C’mon. OK man, let me at ’er.
And how about those dumb and embarrassing clothes our humans like to put on us? When the Toronto Blue Jays made it to the World Series, Jeff dug out a shirt I had hoped was thrown away. A Blue Jays team shirt made for a dog. He put it on me and, well, I didn’t mind it. My woman did and said to him, “Don’t buy him clothes. Next time you’ll hear from my lawyer.” But then Jeff heard that Aunty Pearl was a Blue Jays fan. Well, I had to wear the damn thing during the entire 2025 playoffs.
Whenever Jeff is on Facebook he shares the funny stuff with us. My woman and I don’t do Facebook, so we live our social lives vicariously through Jeff. Last week he saw ads for dog clothing. Even he was disgusted. Hats, scarves, suits and pajamas. He said the hats made the dogs look ridiculous. My woman and I just looked at each other.
Not being peevish about it, but I see all kinds of dog chicks on the Spirit Lake Trail wearing fancy sweaters. Some of them look nice. All of them always want to sniff my vitals. I don’t mind at all. Even some of the fellas wear sweaters, but they tend not to be so fragrant. Rather, they reek of a Purina dog chow stench. And if any try to smell my vitals, hey, I let out a little gas. Jeff says I have to be more tolerant. Grrrr.
Wouldn’t it just happen that my biggest peeve is that none have ever written a cartoon called Human Peeve. I am a journalist, dammit, so I will tell you about a few.
Last week, during a stormy night, we were out for a late one. As I was looking for a grassy knoll to do my late-night potty, we spotted someone walking down the road with his headphones on, looking at his cellphone. He didn’t seem to look up. The road was solid black ice. He didn’t slip. How do they do that?
Another time, Jeff and I were relaxing on a park bench in the city. People walked by, phone in hand, oblivious to the world around them. Everyone does it. Ostensibly, a human collision was supposed to stop this strange behaviour, but none ever seem to happen.
Can you imagine if dogs walked around holding a cellphone while going for a walk? Not likely, eh. Texting and scrolling on any device would scratch up the glass. We’d run into trees, cars, even humans. My cousin told us a story that she walked off the pier once and never recovered her phone.
Human peeve has no use in pop culture. There is no such phrase in use, thought to be bad grammar. Yet pet peeve is a pop culture thing. And pet peeve is not inherently bad grammar, though the term is often used when someone finds annoying things about language. It is a subjective preference. “Irregardless,” dammit. “Me, myself and I.” Ain’t got no class.
Some people think dogs are dumb. I’ll have you know that we know more than you think we do. When the human throws a ball, we are not going to sit still and let it get lost. Would we risk not being fed?
As puppies, we are taught to roll over and lift our paws for chewies and treats. From the beginning of canine-human relations, we earned our keep. My earliest kin were known to hunt rats, guide ships through fog in unpredictable weather, warn of potential danger and breed. It has always been give and take.
My ancestors were given the breed name Schipperke, which means little captain. I am the ship’s guide, destined to navigate the most treacherous waters. My mission is to bring joy and happiness to my people, to assure their safety and uphold their honour with dignity. I will continue to do that.
I don’t ask for much, just a bit of filet mignon, free-range chicken on top of my kibbles, and Vegedents after my evening walk.
But don’t make me wear T-shirts. Don’t walk me while texting on your phone. And most of all, stop making me your propaganda machine. I’m a journalist, dammit.
