#647 Vaga-bond

I once wrote that a sure sign something was going out of fashion was that bums were wearing it.
I’d seen a freeway panhandler holding up a sign at an off-ramp who was wearing one of those eight-ball multicolored leather coats. It just screamed for a mullet to top it off.
How depressing, for a designer to see last season’s hit hitting the skids—on skid row.
Well I’m afraid the end has come for another popular chic accessory, because I saw a bum holding one at a freeway off-ramp the other day. It was a stewing dog. Yep, a bum and stewing dog, and really, it was a perfect fit.
A beautiful bond between vagrant and man’s best friend—a vaga-bond.
Just cute enough to evoke feelings of compassion—and hopefully a spare buck or two—and just small enough to be eminently portable. Perched in the top of a knapsack or rucksack, what the Australians call a matilda, the little dog would be a great companion at the billabong or hobo camp.
And in a pinch, well, you know, they don’t call them stewing dogs for nothing.
The term stewing dog, while descriptive, is often replaced with the term “dropkick dog” or even “ratdog” by those larger dog owners who scorn the whole miniature cutesy thing.
But I think it’s more accurate to refer to them as catdog. Because really, the niche they occupy is closer to that of the domestic house cat—without all the attitude.
They are small, they are cheaper to feed, they are carryable and, most importantly, they are cuddly. Something that can’t be said for willful felines who only seem to cuddle when they want too.
Like when they jump up on the kitchen counter and do the catwalk through the food you are preparing, tail held high, airing out their last trip to the litter box.
By far the best thing to be said about stewing dogs is they can’t jump high enough to get up on the kitchen counter and air out their bums.
America, ya gotta love it