Million Dollar Question

I used to think that there was never any point in a man's life when it was acceptable for him to be caught dead walking a tea cup Yorkie named Duchess.

That was until I realized a few days ago that I'd named my dog Bella.

This internal debate began last week when I was running. For a brief second I wasn't totally preoccupied with trying to prevent my lungs from collapsing and I noticed an adorable little dog walking towards me. It had a pink leash, rhinestone embellished collar, and that trademark Yorkie prance. Then I noticed that it's walker (and presumed owner) was a large, muscle bound black man with biceps the size of Christmas hams and a gut that puts Santa to shame. WHAT IN THE WORLD IS A MAN LIKE THAT DOING WITH A DOG THAT COULD FIT INTO A PIGGY BANK?

 As I got closer, the dog (which I probably could have punted a few hundred feet had I wanted to) started barking at me. When I say bark, I really mean glorified squeal. I'm not even sure a body that small can fit real vocal cords. But anyway, this man yelled, "Duchess, NO!" I almost stopped dead in my tracks.  Duchess? Your dogs name is Duchess? But you're not speaking with an exaggerated lisp or boasting any other stereotypically gay features. Bewilderment. Utter bewilderment. If ever there was proof that dogs DO NOT look like their owners, this was it. I was appalled.  A man like that needs a dog with some substance...a dog that could be named Diesel or Tank without any sort of irony.

But then I thought about it. Bella. What about when Mike walks Bella? Sure, she's not pint sized or overtly female, but she has a pink collar and harness. Maybe I should make her a sign that says, "I actually belong to a girl" for her to wear when he walks her.

What if Duchess was not actually this man's dog, but his girlfriend's/wife's/baby mama's?

I can only hope.