I Hate Your Dog

The cute outfits. The licking. The undeserved devotion.

I AM NOT A DOG PERSON. WHEN I MENTION THIS TO CERTAIN PEOPLE (CERTAIN dog people), they usually say something like: "Well, you haven't met my dog." But haven't I? Your dog is cute and smart and well trained. Your dog has a precious name like Sgt. Pepper or Cocoa Puff. Your dog doesn't slobber or chase pigeons or get on anybody's nerves, ever. If I recall correctly, it might even be barkless. (You ordered it that way.) People always stop you on the street to compliment you. (You mean compliment your dog, right?)

At a store, your dog ensures that I don't get served, because all the employees are doting on it. At some workplaces, it's assumed that your dog is too adorable to stay home. Massachusetts has tried to draw a line. Dogs have to be on a leash in state parks and have been banned from some beaches. It's futile, though. Dog-agnostics are heretics. Your canine's cuteness cannot be denied.

But your dog isn't a dog. Your dog is a toddler. Except you wouldn't treat a toddler half as fabulously as you treat your dog. Spa days. Mani-pedis. Pashminas. Feathered French daybeds. Tiaras. Gourmet ice cream. Forget what I said before. Your dog isn't your baby. Your dog is you. I bemoaned doggie yuppification at a party once, and a guest wondered whether I'd prefer to give them the Michael Vick treatment. But every time I see a dog tied up in ribbons pitifully shivering in somebody's purse while that somebody attacks a sale rack while talking on a cellphone, I think, at least those poor, doomed Michael Vick dogs never had to wear a reversible Burberry jacket.

I can hear what you're thinking - and you're wrong. I like dogs. But there are two things about dogs I hate: licking and the dog industry. The licking should explain itself. But in case it doesn't: I've seen where else dogs put those tongues - besides my hand. The dog industry, meanwhile, is evil. It preys on the idea that what some dog people really want are people dogs. When I hear that folks are taking their dogs to yoga class (and they are), I think the folks who run the studio must be insane. If I always feel worse after yoga, what chance does Sgt. Pepper stand?

The American Pet Products Manufacturers Association reported that some chi-chi hotels have somebody on staff to massage dogs. And as is often the case in life, it's not fair. Aren't the wrong dogs being soothed? I'm reasonably certain the ones out aiding the blind, saving the imperiled, or gladdening the lonely aren't getting a deep-tissue rub. It's the sad, quaking, barkless leisure pocket dog, the dog that looks as if it's having a nonstop nervous breakdown. Those dogs don't need yoga. They need a cigarette. Look out for that marketing niche: smoking dogs.

The pathological narcissism of some dog owners is one thing. But unconditional devotion is worse. A few years ago, I was dating a guy. The guy had a dog. The dog wasn't thrilled about sharing. The guy said the dog would get used to me. And it did. Regardless of what was happening on the sofa or in the bed, the dog was there. It never bothered the guy, which drove me crazy. Eventually it became clear that I was dating the dog, too. This was never negotiated. Either we were a threesome or we were seeing other people.

The guy loved that dog - he fed it expensive food and was thinking about clothing it. The dog tolerated me. I guess it knew the whole arrangement made no sense. I showed up at the guy's one night, and the dog was already in my half of the bed, daring me to make it move. I took my toothbrush and went home. The guy knew I was hurt. But it was pretty clear that I was the second most important person in the relationship. He didn't own that dog. The dog owned him.

Wesley Morris is a movie critic for the Globe. He loves Atomic Dog. E-mail him at wmorris@globe.com.