If you’ve never read anything I’ve written before – like most people with the exception of four guys named Joe and a hamster that lives in Abilene, Texas – know this: my mouth tends to get me into trouble. A lot. Really, even nationally syndicated talk show hosts named Beck, Rush, or O’Reilly don’t get into trouble as often as I tend to.
That being said, I’d like to say that people in Sweden should not, under any circumstances, own a chihuahua.
Go ahead, call me a hack. Call me heartless. Call me other things which can’t exactly be printed. I don’t care. Because when you truly believe in something, you need to stand up for it.
Just think about this: where do chihuahuas come from? That’s right, the state of Chihuahua – Northern Mexico. The desert. Last I checked, Sweden doesn’t have any cactuses, scorpions, rattlesnakes, chupacabras, or Dia de los Muertos.
But for some reason, many young college students in Växjö seem to think they make a great pet. And I agree – if only you didn’t live in one of the coldest countries on earth. I know global warming is a problem, but I don’t think you can fry an egg on the hood of your car around here like you can in Mexico.
C’mon people: this is absurd. Sure, you can try to justify the whole “my dog won’t freeze to death” thing by putting your virtually hairless canine in a goofy sweater – usually featuring an image of Mickey Mouse or the rather puzzling word “juicy” – but it still doesn’t make up for the fact that your pet is more out of place than Christina Aguilera at a nunnery, or yours truly at a fancy hotel.
Granted, I’ve seen some weird things in my life (a raccoon in my kitchen, some guy selling art made out of pizza boxes, Legoland, and the Phillie Phanatic), but I can assure you that this is beyond surreal. Heck, it makes even less sense than Tom Cruise jumping the couch, or Indiana Jones nuking the fridge.
If you have to have a dog in Sweden, and a small one at that, then try something like a Lhasa Apso. You know, something that actually has fur. Or a Jämthund, which I assume would be used to cold weather considering they’re Swedish.
So there you have it: I’ve laid my soul bare. Let’s use common sense, people. Virtually hairless dogs in cold, snowy places = massive veterinary bill waiting to happen, potential emotional crisis flashpoint for human owner and the next edition of Real Men of Genius.
Maybe I don’t understand this whole owning a pet the size of a teacup phenomenon because I’m not Swedish, or because I usually prefer my dogs to be able to adequately defend themselves if they come face-to-face with a seagull. Or maybe it’s because I’m, quite honestly, more of a cat person anyway.
All I can say is, what gives?