Tori Morrison One Hundred and One Reasons to Hate Canadian Goose Down Jackets

In 1991, 101 Dalmatians was re-released by the Disney Corporation, and if you were a child of the 90’s you saw it. You would have also witnessed the live action 101 Dalmatians which was released 1996. If you were a normal child, you understood that Cruella De Vil was an evil demon and that killing a dog for fur was an unfathomable kind of horror for a child’s brain to process. I can remember watching the animated version of this movie during my grade 2 birthday party and all the kids in the room hitting a feverish pitch of undiagnosed ADHD induce panic, as the dogs let out the twilight bark to find the missing 15 puppies.

Now it’s 2012, and the same people who spent their evenings cuddling their stuffed Patch dalmatian (no matter which dalmatian plush set you purchased it always came with Patch) are bouncing around in 10 degree Toronto weather in fucking Canadian Goose Down jackets with Coyote trim like they’re motherfucking Nanook of the North. Now first of all, Toronto is not cold enough to require a parka, maybe you could just wear a sweater under your coat like every normal person ever did before 2010. But more importantly, how did we go from a childhood of personal attachment to Patch, Penny and Pongo, to wearing a genus sharing relative of the domesticated dog?

The Canine family is broken up into two genuses, Canis (wolves, dogs, coyotes, jackels), Vulpes (foxes). The domesticated dog is a direct descendant of the grey wolf. So even though coyotes aren’t technically a dog they can and do, mate with one another to produce viable fertile offspring. So if you love your dog and your dog can’t tell the difference between a dog and coyote, why are you capable of loving your dog and wearing the pelt of a dog like creature whose leg was caught in a trap until someone came over to kill him? Why does your dog have a dog sitter, or a bed, or an adorable collar in a manner that suggest you see your dog as a family member, but his true family members are dying and you’re paying someone to do this. Oh, and  don’t get me started on the urge to turn you into human leather and wear your scalp like a trophy of madness when I see you on your walk with your dog to go get him more crap while you’re wearing coyote fur.  

Go into your heart and find the child who tightened their fist in fear as the soot covered dalmatians walked past the Jasper and Horace and say to yourself; “If that dog was a little bit more furry and I would look like a bigger fashion whore to do so, I would fucking pay one of those guys to wash that puppy, kill it, sew it into a jacket with a shit load of dead birds and put it around my face. That way, I could partner it with my aviator glasses, take numerous duck face photos in the food court bathroom and post them on instagram to feed my constant need for attention while being the exact same as every other girl in my reading level.” In fact, tell your dog that the only reason you won’t wear him is because his fur isn’t packaged as part of a douchebag uniform yet, and he should think about that the next time he wants a belly rub. Because that’s who you are. You are a fucking monster and childhood-you would be so disappointed to hear of what became of them.  And if that doesn’t scare you, no evil thing will.

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