Poop City

Allergen free, but what about guilt?

Though the desire to care for a companion animal is without question an admirable one, there's something that is just wrong about purchasing an animal, as this family in the Village has, whose genes have been manipulated to make him/her allergen free.

No doubt, the Greenberg family loves their cat, and Dempsey certainly lives up to his zeitgeist-y moniker (geeks that we are, back in '98 we almost named our Zoe "Scully," and are very glad it didn't take).

But how many kitties were bred before Allerca Lifestyle Pets got the allergen-free mutation right? What happened to them? What happens to the cats who are returned to the seller like defective toasters? What happens to these cats as they age?

None of these questions are addressed in any depth on the Allerca web site. The closest the company comes is on its Q&A page, where potential clients can find this ridiculousness:

Q: Is there anything you can do to help current animal overpopulation?
A: All ALLERCA kittens are spayed or neutered prior to delivery, so at least we are doing our part.

Then there's this:

At ALLERCA, we are particularly concerned about animal and bioethics, and continually study and discuss these issues both internally and with leading experts.

So they're discussing ethical issues. Continually. With leading experts. What - you expect details for $4000?

For our money, Gothamist commenter Tim N. sums it up nicely:

Do what I do around our two cats and take a damn Allegra.

Déjà Val all over again

Though the heart-shaped candy samplers and heart-clutching stuffed bears that lined store shelves a month ago were expeditiously ripped from our collective consumer conscience by egg-shaped candy samplers and egg-bearing stuffed bunnies, the past few days have brought a bounty of tips for the lovelorn pet lover.

Men and Cats brings us Date My Pet, a professional-looking site - which, unfortunately at this point, has "very few" New York members. Vegan Porn cites a new service from across the pond - which, unfortunately at this point, isn't available in English.

Okay, so we're pretty much 0-for-2. But hey, check out this list of playdates from NYCityPets. Must be some possibilities there, right? Just, um, stay away from the vegetarians.

Well at least I have a heartwarming story of my own. Heading to the A train en route to the neighborhood supplier yesterday, I swiped my MetroCard down to zero, only to discover shortly thereafter - case of Eukanuba in hand - that all the card dispensers in my neck of the woods were down (i.e. accepting cash only).

With not one cent on my person, as usual, I stood in front of the bank of machines at 184th, worthless debit card in hand, having tried in vain to refill my MetroCard at one after the other. When I approached the MTA employee at the booth - who seconds earlier had stepped out to confirm that the machines were, in fact, broken, and who from what I could tell put that information to no use whatsoever - I was told that my debit card was just as useless to him as it was to me, and instructed to leave the station, find an ATM and return with cash.

I accepted these directions with surprising good cheer - surprising especially to me, since what I really wanted to do was ask Mr. Booth Man (1) what, exactly, his function was if not to aid subway riders when the machines designed to replace him were broken, and (2) what career path he planned to take once the MTA finally succeeded in making his job completely obsolete, as opposed to practically obsolete.

Instead, I shlubbed down to the 181st Street station, in hopes of refilling my card there. But as I descended the stairs I was greeted by two machines lit up and flashing away like nickel slots at the Flamingo: Cash only!! Cash only!!

Fortunately, this booth was occupied by a pleasant looking lady who reminded me of someone's great aunt. One who wears Christmas sweaters and volunteers at the precinct on Election Day.

"Ma'am," I said, sounding, not entirely by accident, like a perplexed Andy Taylor come to town for the national sheriff's convention, "are awll the machines down?"

Within 10 seconds Great Aunt Booth buzzed me through the turnstile, and I was on my way.

Happy Valentines, y'all.

In other news:
- Poop City receives its first citation in the legitimate media. [The Brooklyn Paper]

Yet another use for poop

On Thursday's Leonard Lopate Show, scientist Will Brinton of Maine's Woods End Laboratories described how dog and cat poop can be converted into a clean energy source.

Using existing technology, waste placed in bio-degradable bags can be tossed into a sealed device called a "digester," which converts the methane within. Digesters can be sited within neighborhoods - like Greenpoint - or even placed within individual buildings, as they produce no odor, according to Brinton.

Sounds too good to be true, but Brinton says that in Germany methane from waste is "essentially a replacement for natural gas," and that San Francisco could soon mandate that pet poo be collected in "digestible" bags for collection and processing. Brinton claims that widespread practice of caca conversion could remove 25 percent of organic debris from landfills.

"It's a large amount of energy potential," Brinton told Lopate.

Photo: c/o Miss Heather (linked above)

Trainers come when called

Today brought two trend pieces on at-home trainers. (With two stories on the same day, it must be a trend!) A wire story from AMNY takes us to Anchorage, Alaska (shudder), where Robin Scheff turned a weekend whim into a career. Scheff has worked some tough cases, including that of a pit bull whose caretakers eventually had him euthanized out of fear he would one day kill their Jack Russell terrier. Back in the relatively genteel boros, the Times relates how Broadway trainer Bill Berloni and others help city dogs and cats - and their people - conquer nervousness and aggression issues without having to leave familiar environs.

Asides: According to the Times piece, adoptions from AC&C more than doubled between 2001 and 2006. Also, a lot of couples apparently have sex in front of their dogs.

While some New Yorkers are shelling out big bucks to make their companion animals comfortable and safe, at the other end of the evolutionary chain we have the likes of Matthew Woods and Latoya Katon. This allegedly sorry Brooklyn pair has been charged with letting one pit bull dehydrate and starve to death while leaving eight more to suffer the same fate in their backyard. When brought in for questioning by the ASPCA, Woods "punched and kicked cops and broke a plate-glass window." Of course people like Woods have nothing to do with giving pit bulls a bad name. It's the breed.

In other news:
- Busy schedule at LOHV. [LOHV]
- Flushed kitty poo endangers sea otters. [AMNY]
- The politics of co-sleeping. [callalillie]

Photo: Viciously adorable pit bull pup, c/o BARC and lisacat

Delivering the goods (or not)

Here in Poop City we buy cat supplies in bulk, and we need them brought to us. Unfortunately we have yet to settle on a suitable vendor.

Pet Chauffeur is the only one we've found that (a) has what we need and (b) delivers. Unfortunately, Pet Chauffeur has a habit of being less than dependable (delivery times vary wildly) and, at times, even difficult. Take yesterday's attempt to place an order by phone, which went something like this:

Pet Chauffeur: Pet Chauffeur.
Customer: Yes. I would like to place an order, please.
PC: Oh, you can do that on the Internet.
Customer: (hesitates in disbelief) Yes. Well, I'd like to make sure what I need is in stock. [Ed note: It often isn't, even when PC says it is.]
PC: The person who does that isn't here.
Customer: (hesitates in disbelief) Um, when will that person be back?
PC: Tomorrow.
Customer: (hesitates in disbelief) Uh, okay. I guess I'll call back.
PC: All right. Thank you.
Customer: Good-bye.
(Customer hangs up, goes online and places order elsewhere.)

In other news: Gothamist updates us on the case of the sodomized NJ puppy, Kate, whose unbelievably sick attacker(s) will hopefully be turned in due to an ever-increasing award; firefighters in Vermont and Connecticut are saving lives with pet oxygen masks; and Frances gives Miss Heather a long night.