TheBanyanTree: Dog Interviews

[Monique]

We went looking for an apartment today. Not that there's anything wrong
with the current apartment, it's just too . . .small. We need a big
kitchen, a bigger bathroom, a garage, more SPACE, because now there's
two of us here instead of one. Most complexes either take dogs of the
Amazing Honey's size or they don't, some take smaller dogs only, some
want nothing to do with dogs altogether, so we only look at places that
accept medium and large sized dogs since she insists on moving with us. 
 
But once the size issue is ironed out, then there's the breed issue.
Yes, discrimination against certain breeds exists on a widespread scale.
Usually the Amazing Honey skates by fine with her half Golden
Retriever/half Chow (she's certainly not a full Chow, which would be a
Chow Chow, but only half) heritage, but there are still those little
pockets of resistance to the idea of the Chow as a friendly dog . . . 
 
The complex we visited today said they don't normally allow Chow Chows,
though they do accept Golden Retrievers. Since her highness is half and
half, we emphasized she's very little Chow, and mostly Retriever. (We've
never had her officially tested, but that's our story and we're sticking
with it.)
 
They said she would just have to go through an interview to be accepted.
 
An interview.
 
I am pondering how one conducts a dog interview.
 
"So, your name is Honey?"
 
"Woof."
 
"Tell me, Honey, what's your experience in co-existing with people?"
 
If Honey were not the Amazing Honey but a person, she would reply, "I
find that if you let people alone they'll usually let you alone, and
that disagreements can normally be worked out. I mean, I LIKE people,
they're friendly enough, and as long as they don't play their music too
loud or chase me down the street, it's all good."
 
Instead, being Honey, she'd say, "Woof?"
 
"Can you give us an example of how you used your skills in a difficult
situation recently?"
 
"I was instrumental in resolving a hostage situation that involved two
terriers, a Doberman, and a Pekingese, by using my dog skills and my
ability to relate to others on a personal level. By countering the ad
hominem attacks of the terriers without resorting to such myself, and by
engaging in dialogue with the Pekingese, I was able to establish clear
lines of communication between all parties that resulted in a successful
outcome."
 
Instead, being Honey, she'd probably answer with something shorter:
"Bark?"
 
Honey's fathers are worried about her ability to play nice during an
interview. Will she lunge for an attack? Will she growl? Will she lay
waste to the interviewer and then turn around and smile and say, "Woof!"
Will they ask her trick questions in an attempt to trap her into saying
something better left unsaid?
 
"Tell us, Honey, about the possum incident . . . "
 
Honey's likely to expound at length about her ferocity, her ability to
stalk and capture prey, her ability to shake a creature violently until
its brains explode, because, being a dog, this is what she is proud of .
. . and this is not likely to be a successful interview. 
 
"Tell us about your education, Honey."
 
"I didn't get to go to school, everything I know, which is a lot, I
learned on the streets. The school of hard knocks, that was my school.
Abandoned and pregnant at the age of 2, I wandered the streets of
Tacoma, and that's where I learned most of my survival skills.
Education? I got street smarts, it's all I need."
 
Or, in the shortened version: "Bark!"
 
I'm not sure what purpose a dog interview would serve . . . if she were
cognizant of the reason for the interview, of course she's going to lie
and play nice, and pretend to be everything they want to see. It is,
after all, an interview, and nothing like living with Honey in real
life. In real life, Honey does what she wants and gets what she wants,
and damn the torpedoes! 
 
Interview the dog. What will they think of next?
 
Monique