The New York Times takes forever to load on my computer. The site is huge, and my home Internet is about as fast as a snail walking on a tightrope. So last night as I watched my home page slowly unfold, pixel by pixel, a strange image emerged. It was a woman doing a yogic backward bend, and she had a tiny dog perched on her stomach, held in place by another woman in stretch pants and a hoodie.
I’ve heard of “dog yoga” (apparently called “doga”—ick), but I’ve never seen as illustration. And with an upfront apology to any practicers/practitioners of “doga” who may be reading this, it struck me as one of the most ludicrous things I’ve ever seen, a shining example of what yuppie housewives with too much time on their hands, a little too much money and an appetite for kitschy fads do with their time.
I like yoga. I used to do it a lot. I also like my dog, perhaps beyond reasonable measure. But the thought of trying to get my dog to sit on me while I do yoga, or of propping up his paws so he can master an “upward paw pose” just makes me feel weird. And now this trend has become so popular that it’s graced the tediously loaded front page of the online New York Times. Really, what is the world coming to?
So convince me, if you’re a “doga” lover; put me in my misguided place. Or come naysay with me. What the hell is up with this trend?