Barkus

It's a parade for dogs, if you can believe it. Not only do doggies march, but people come from all over the city with their doggies to watch and to get treats.


Jeremy is making loud drunken comments about how people are too close to the dogs. "No one can see the dogs," he says. "Tourists!" Jeremy lives in the French Quarter, and anyone who lives outside the Quarters, whether it be the Marigny, or Metairie or Minneapolis is a tourist.


When there's a break in the parade, I get bored. So I do what I always do: I start asking questions to the person next to me. There's a white lady with two black kids. Even in the French Quarter, even in the 21st Century, people still stare at the mixing of the races. Move along. No interesting story here. Just your average American family.


But, here is the interesting story: the girl holds a tiny little brindle Chihuahua. I have never seen one this color and this small up close and personal. The girl's mother holds a second Chihuahua, and her brother a third.


"We rescued them off of Craig's list," says the mother. And, before I can ask details, the parade starts up again. The Gulfcoast Doberman Rescuers are throwing chewy treats, and her Chihuahua woofs "throw me something Dobie."