Woof! A Gay Man's Guide to Dogs

May 15th, 2007: The Dogfather
You don’t have to live in New Jersey and be very gay and Italian to know about the gay mafia. It doesn’t hurt—I’ll grant you—but it is definitely not a requirement. It’s not something we gays really like to talk about. And we Italians, forgitaboutit. Fortunately, gay men have very expressive eyes, a secret handshake (which works in groups, too), and code words for many unspeakable gay things.
Because you just never know, it’s smart to make arrangements ahead of time, and that includes selecting a gay godfather for your puppy. My puppy Azuki, in fact, has two “dogfathers,” though Donatella never comes around. (I’m pretty sure she’s a man.)

Her other dogfather comes over weekly. He calls her Ravioli, and we go along with it because he spoils her right: he’s always bearing fresh-baked goodies, expensive doggy bling and some Versace “giveaways.” (We tell her that those are from her other dogfather so that she doesn’t feel neglected.) It seems that her dogfather knows which trucks driving through Hoboken are going to be handing out all this Versace overstock, much of it in my size. I did molto bene in selecting this dogfather for my puppy, and you’d be wise to find one to take care of yours, too.

Here’s some basic pointers on selecting a dogfather:
Choose one of your gay friends who is gainfully employed, who does not have a dog of his own, and who, if he’s not Italian, at least has close ties to the entertainment or fashion industry.
Before appointing your chosen doggy goomba, make sure he knows what’s expected of him with each weekly visit and that he was selected from a long list of candidates that included David Geffen, Leonardo Dicaprio, and many other highfalutin Ladies of Leisure and starry movie producers.

Modern dog parents can benefit from the services of a dogfather who lives close by. In the neighborhood and close enough to swing by and pick up little Ravioli from daycare or the doggy spa. (He gets gift certificates from his goomba for learning his lessons real nice.) A good fellow dogfather can also take care of that yacchadon Miniature Poodle at the dog park who keeps nipping at his goddog. Not for nothing, but Ravioli has no more worries at his daycare either, not since that fat-ass gavone of a Mastiff puppy “dropped out.” God, were we relieved to learn that the puppy disappeared from Ravioli’s session the day after our dogfather took him for a joyride in his El Dorado. (Now that’s a gorgeous car—charcoal satin finish, mauve interior, trunk built for…shopping sprees.)

Dogfathers generally have excellent instincts for handling dogs. They’re happy to take the puppy out for a walk, and you don’t have to worry about those pesky poop-scoop laws. Your goomba knows plenty about waste management, and he’s not carrying a box of Ziplocks. And he’s good at sniffing out trouble and always remembers where the bones are buried (even when the puppy forgets). Somewhere between Exit 14 and the Verrazano, which seems like a long walk for a puppy, but I don’t ask questions because Ravioli really loves her dogfather. He shows her la dolce vita, and she deserves the best of everything. Salud!
Let me know if you have any nice stories about your dogfathers.