Every morning, after he’s had his walk and taken his medications, 13-year-old Happy Parrish gets ready for his favorite ritual of the day. His mouth watering with anticipation, he hops up on the backseat of his mother’s racing-green Land Rover. (Because Happy is so short, his mother figures it might be dangerous for him to ride up front, too close to the airbags.) Then Happy and his mother, Nan, leave their Belle Meade driveway and head out for The Christie Cookie, where they will be joined by Happy’s daddy, Neil, on his way to the Green Hills office where he manages investments.
The experience, Nan explains, “is not about a cookie, but spending time with our loved ones. This is my quality time with Happy and Neil, when we can talk without the phone ringing.”
The details have been the same every day for a decade—except on Sundays, when the cookie store doesn’t open until noon. Sitting at an outdoor table, Nan and Neil peruse the morning papers and munch on a snack of fat-free cookies and diet Cokes. Meanwhile, Happy has a snickerdoodle, crumbled and served in a kiddie-size drink cup. He eats his cookie in the backseat of the Land Rover. If any snickerdoodle crumbs fall on the floor of the car, he jumps down and licks them up off the carpet.
Happy Parrish may be the most notoriously pampered poodle in Nashville, even if he is only one of thousands of non-human pets who occupy super-human places in their owners’ lives. His personal collection of press clippings chronicles his appearances in “Betty Banner” and in The Green Hills News. In the entrance hall of the Parrish home, his card is displayed on its own tray. His portrait hangs above the family fireplace, and a sculpture of Happy adorns the hearth. Photographs of Happy, both with and without his fellow family members—Nan and Neil also have two human daughters—are scattered throughout the home. In one photo in the back hallway, Happy is still sopping wet from one of the weekly showers he takes with his father. (It’s another Parrish household routine. Neil washes the dog and hands him to Nan, who fluffs him up with a blow dryer.)
When friends say the Parrishes have gone overboard with their obsession for Happy, Nan simply shrugs off the criticism. “We’re like that with our children too,” she says, noting that she and Neil take their daughters to an English castle every Christmas. “Happy gives us more than we give him, believe me. With Happy, it’s unconditional love and total devotion. Where else do you get that but from a pet?”
In poodle years, 13-year-old Happy is no longer a mere pup. And since he’s had his share of health problems, the Parrishes feel justified in giving him special treatment. For example, a clerk at The Christie Cookie explains, Happy used to get a serving of yogurt every morning. When it started giving him “problems,” he was switched to his snickerdoodle regimen. Several years ago, when the Parrishes were in New York for a seven-week stint, they worried about Happy’s ability to negotiate the busy streets. “So we bought a baby stroller,” Nan says. And Manhattan managed to adjust. Nan couldn’t get Happy’s stroller through the revolving doors at Tiffany & Co., so Happy came in through the loading dock. “He liked the elevator at Trump Tower because of the mirrors, but he didn’t like Bloomingdale’s elevators,” Nan recalls. Outside Trump Tower the paparazzi lined up to take pictures, despite Nan’s protesting, “Oh, please, People magazine isn’t going to pay you for this because we’re not famous.”
And then there is the most famous Happy story of all—the one about Happy and the flight attendant: In some versions, Nan forced a plane to be turned around on the runway after a poodle-phobic flight attendant demanded that Happy be stowed away in a carry-on bag. But Nan says such legends are exaggerated. In her account of the incident, “an airline stewardess with a terrible attitude” insisted that Nan, who was flying first-class, would
have to zip the sedated Happy up in his stuffy little bag. Otherwise, the flight would not take off. The flight took off, but it departed without Nan and Happy, who left Neil to travel alone while they waited for a more puppy-positive flight.
In retrospect, Nan says, she should have known she was in for trouble from the start. “As we were boarding the plane with Happy,” she recalls, “instead of saying hello, the stewardess said, ‘Oh, he has to have his head in the bag and be under the seat at all times.’ I looked at my husband and said, ‘She isn’t a dog person. Maybe this isn’t the flight for me.’ ”
Metro officials estimate that there are more than 250,000 pets in Davidson County. And we’re not just talking dogs and cats. Nashvillians also lavish their affections on lizards, rabbits, snakes, guinea pigs, and squirrels. “Pot-belly pigs and llamas are getting more and more popular,” says Dr. Michelle Barrett, a veterinarian who practices in Williamson County.
And plenty of these pet owners don’t find it excessive at all to have a dog that eats Egg McMuffins and Dairy Queen ice cream. They don’t find it unusual to spend hundreds of dollars each month on pet grooming and manicuring or on cute doggie-size sweaters and scarves. Let the neighbors growl. The pet owners hardly seem to care.
Nationwide, people spend about $17 billion annually on pets, indulging them with day care, bejeweled collars, birthday cakes, and gold-plated dog houses. Nearly 80 percent of dog owners give their animals birthday and holiday presents, and 33 percent talk to their animals on the phone or leave messages for them on the answering machine when they travel, according to the American Animal Hospital Association. About 85 percent of pet owners take their dogs or cats to a vet regularly. Thirty-two percent sleep with their dogs, and more than 40 percent said they would pick a dog rather than a human as their only companion if stuck on a desert island.
WKDA radio personality Karlen Evins admits that her personal menagerie—which includes a Siberian husky named Darby, a Persian cat, and three goats—is “a surrogate, a family I can leave enclosed without feeling bad and having to get a babysitter for. They love you unconditionally and don’t talk back. They don’t say, ‘I’ve only had two quality hours with you this week.’ If I could find a man that loyal, who didn’t care how hard I worked and didn’t talk back, I would be married by now.”
Pet lovers accept the fact there is no point in attempting to convince the skeptical that their devotion is anything other than a neurosis. Arlene Schmidt Samowich, who publishes Nashville Pet Gazette, a monthly publication with a circulation of 10,000, says, “I sort of have this attitude that there’s just really no point in making people understand it who don’t get it. You are either a pet lover or you are not. I’m not sure it’s worth the energy trying to make people understand. It takes away from the enjoyment of our pets. If people choose not to have kids, the people who have kids don’t understand that decision. Pets obviously fill a need in our lives, just in terms of love and caring and understanding and warmth.”
Regina Huggins, owner of Miss Kitty’s Bed and Bath, an ultra-swank day spa for doggies, says her “all-inclusive pet resort” has three target markets: childless career couples for whom their pet is their surrogate “child”; empty-nesters whose children have moved on; and single gay men or gay couples who enjoy spending their disposable income on their pets. “They don’t care what it costs if it’s what they want,” Huggins says.
And puppy love doesn’t come cheap. At Miss Kitty’s “Doggie Deli,” where the light from a chandelier reflects off the shiny wood floors; display cases are filled with homemade cookies, there’s also a full line of doggy-style gold lamé bikinis ($29.99), tuxedos ($40-$52), wedding dresses, and biker jackets. Next door in the beauty salon, Miss Kitty’s two groomers gave 1,300 haircuts, at $44 a clip, last year—and that was just to shih tzus. Grooming for a standard poodle costs $95.25, and a specialized lamb, puppy, or scissor clip is $113.50. Meanwhile, other dogs are simply milling about, killing another afternoon in Miss Kitty’s day care, which costs $12 a day, or $20 if an overnight stay is required.
“There are lots of people who may spend $300 or $400 a month,” says Huggins, who named her salon/deli/boarding house after her late, beloved Pomeranian. “We have a lot of people who roll over appointments for their pets every week, just like you would for a person.” But she hastens to add that not all her clients are affluent. “We have some hardworking people for whom their pet is high on their priority list, and they spend just as much [as pet owners who are better off],” Huggins says. “They put coats on layaway.”
Huggins can understand such sacrifices. Even though she has a child of her own now, she still remembers the dear, departed Miss Kitty. “I still consider Miss Kitty my firstborn,” Huggins says.
One of the big spenders at Miss Kitty’s is Michael Smyth, the well-known local hair stylist, who apparently doesn’t blink at paying $400 a month so that his two dogs, Lois and Razz, can keep their every-Wednesday beauty appointments at Huggins’ salon. But the beauty appointments are just the beginning.
Smyth also spends $800 a month for a live-in housekeeper, one of whose major jobs is to play “nanny” to Lois and Razz. “They don’t like being alone during the day,” Smyth says. “I think Lois has abandonment issues. We got her when she was 6 months old because her previous owners were divorcing. I had a feeling that they put her in a kennel, fed her, and walked away. She won’t eat if she can’t see us. She’ll stop eating and stare out the window.”
Smyth tries not to feel guilty. “I spend as much time as I can with Lois and Razz,” he says. “People ask me what I’m doing on the weekends, and I’ll tell them I’m spending quality time with my dogs. Behind my back they may laugh at me, but most of them say they want to come back in the next life as a dog of mine.”
Or perhaps they could come back as Renee Bell’s 7-year-old Pomeranian, Gizmo. Bell, who is senior director of artists and repertoire for RCA Label Group, has a reputation as one of the most sought-after women on Music Row. But any admirer already has a tough act to follow. “Gizmo and I hug and kiss on each other all the time,” Bell says. “Sometimes I just look at him and cry. Every morning before I get out of bed, we cuddle.” And woe to the potential boyfriend who treads on Gizmo’s carefully staked-out turf. “Gizmo hates dates because I kiss on him so much, and he knows that smacking sound,” Bell says. “If he hears that smacking sound, he goes nuts, and he’s all over me.”
Surely, such behavior must wreak havoc on Bell’s love life. “I’m sure it drives the guys nuts,” she concedes. “Maybe that’s why I’m still single. It’s a good thing I love Gizmo as much as I do.”
When it comes to unquestioning doggie devotion, though, nobody can match Barbara Bransford, who once even went so far as to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to her schipperke, Baby. As a show of gratitude, Baby came to and bit Bransford on the nose. Nevertheless, Bransford, who lives on a 350-acre farm in Fernvale, rushed Baby to a vet in nearby Fairview. “I hadn’t looked in a mirror or anything,” Bransford recalls. “The vet came rushing out and said, ‘Lady, you need to see a doctor.’ I said, ‘Take care of my dog. I can see a doctor later.’ ” Bransford required nine stitches in her lip; the vet put Baby on new medication.
Pet lovers may weep at the story of Bransford’s selfless bravery. Cynics, however, may be concerned about her sanity. Such is the dilemma faced by Candace Price, whose miniature dachshund, Trouble, goes to day care five days a week—to the tune of $60 weekly, plus monthly groomings. “I just don’t like for him to be alone,” she explains. At home, Trouble has his own tiny recliner and sleeps in the same bed with Price and her husband. “I am just madly in love with him,” she says, referring to the dachshund, not her husband. “I talk and sing to him. I even do little things where I pretend he’s talking back. Friends think I’m completely out of my mind.”
Or there is the obsession of Regina Bailey, a receptionist at a doctor’s office, who frequently changes the hair color of her white poodle, Lexus, despite the fact that each dye job costs $45. “He has been auburn, pink, purple, red, and blue,” Bailey says, not begrudging the fact that the color washes out in a matter of weeks. “I like him to look his best at all times,” she says. “My mama can take him outside, and people will think it’s a fake dog. I think it makes people like pets more, especially poodles.”
Inevitably, there can be too much of a good thing. Dr. Craig Prior of Murphy Road Animal Hospital has seen plenty of instances in which overindulgent pet owners have gone too far. “I’ve had situations where people say, ‘I give chocolate to my dog every day,’ ” Prior says. “Chocolate can kill a dog or cat. If a dog eats twice the calories he burns every day and is carried around on a pillow, he will become obese.”
But many pet pamperers see obesity as “a sign of affection,” says veterinarian Michelle Barrett. “Feeding the animal is something they enjoy, and they do that to an excess. They think they’re doing them a favor, but they’re not.”
The range of services available for pets—and the prices pet-owners will pay for those services—is astounding. A portrait by pet photographer Michael Becker, who works with a whistle in his mouth and a squeaky toy under one foot, can run as much as $600, and that doesn’t include the $75 sitting fee. At Miss Kitty’s, each pet gets his own 4-foot-by-6-foot room equipped with windows at doggie-eye level, and there’s a telephone jack in every wing of the building so that, whenever necessary, lonesome pets can have the comfort of hearing their owners’ voices. Or particularly desperate pet-owners can engage the services of feline-behavior consultant Pam Johnson, who deals with challenges such as cats who won’t use their litter boxes or kittys who go manic and attack their masters.
And then, of course, there are those trips to the vet. Spilman O’Neill, a teacher who admits to owning six dogs and “a ridiculous number” of cats (she’ll only say it’s more than 10), spends approximately $500 a month on her animals’ food and vet bills. If a siege of serious injuries or life-threatening illnesses should strike her menagerie, O’Neill could be headed for financial disaster. According to Murphy Road Animal Hospital’s Craig Prior, setting a pet’s fractured bone can cost anywhere from $200 to $1,500.
As pets grow older, Prior advises, owners should remember that animals are put to sleep on a daily basis, frequently because the cost of treatment has become exorbitant. The question of how much is too much, however, “varies with different people, based on their incomes and their emotional bonds to their pets,” says Prior, who adds, “Every animal has a price.”
Maybe, or maybe not. “If you look at the way society has been for the last 20 years, people have focused on careers more than family,” says Becker, the pet photographer. “The instincts to nurture are still there, so people fulfill that with a pet. And it’s easier to justify than spoiling their child.”
Certainly, Tandy Rice, the artists’ manager whose client roster includes comedians Jerry Clower and George “Goober” Lindsey, has no problem lavishing affection on Allie, his Jack Russell terrier. Allie travels to Rice’s 16th Avenue South office every day, and the two of them play games every night. “She has her own soccer ball, chew sticks, and toys,” Rice says. “She gets them and brings them to me. There’s a certain time of the day when she gets half a pig’s ear.
“She loves to ride around in my Jeep, perched up really high. We ride around and look for other dogs.” (When Rice uses the D-O-G word, he is careful to spell it out, lest Allie overhear, understand, and turn frantic.)
“I talk to her in sounds and guttural utterances. I click my tongue and pop my lips and squeal like a baby duck. She is totally indulged.”
Regulars on Music Row are also familiar with Camille, the mixed-breed pooch owned by artists’ manager Pam Lewis. “Camille needs to write a book,” Lewis says, confessing that her dog, who was the ring-bearer at Lewis’ wedding, frequently sits in on high-level negotiations. “Camille has a basket under my desk,” says Lewis. “She curls up there and waits to chase the UPS man. For some reason, people in uniform bother her.”
Invariably, when pet lovers talk about their treasured darlings, they mention the “unconditional” love they receive from their animals. And indeed, there is something to be said for the loyalty of a friendly beast who doesn’t care how much you weigh, what you look like, or what outfit you’ve got on. “It’s awful to say, but I prefer my pets to people,” says attorney Lin Howard, who serves as treasurer for Tennesseans for Sen. Thompson. “If you tell me your pet’s name, I’ll remember it, while I might forget your wife’s name.
“I think animals are spiritual,” insists Howard, who hires a house sitter for her collection of one bird, three dogs, and assorted goldfish whenever she travels. “Animals basically talk to you. They’re genuine, they don’t lie, and they don’t fake anything.” And they don’t leave—at least not until they head for that big Orvis dog bed in the sky.
Now that her children are grown and living away from home, housewife Nancy London takes great delight in spoiling her shih tzu, Kinsey, who has a basketful of toys, including a Tickle Me Elmo doll, the most sought-after doll of last year’s Christmas season. On Sundays, when London and her husband, Terry, are away at church, they turn on a TV so that Kinsey can watch a local church service too. Scrupulous about her personal hygiene, Kinsey refuses to leave the house if it is raining, and she has a wardrobe of sweaters, a red rainslicker, and a ski parka to help her cope with Nashville’s unpredictable weather.
Because Kinsey is allowed to share the Londons’ bed, they have her bathed weekly. But such closeness can lead to some souring of familial relationships. “Kinsey is very jealous when Terry kisses me goodbye in the mornings,” Nancy London says. Apparently, when it comes to jealousy, even pooches can be petty.
“Kinsey barks at me when I get on the phone,” Nancy London admits, but she knows what to do when puppy love grows a trifle too demanding. “I just feed her so she will leave me alone,” London says. “I do what any good parent does: I throw her doggy treats.”
