Facebook: Going to the Dogs?

A few weeks ago, I grudgingly acknowledged that we might be in the decade of Facebook. Since then there has been backlash of various forms, defense of Zuck and his firm against said backlash. None of it has changed my mind about FB.

A couple of snappy canine remarks caught my attention recently: hence this post. First is dabitch’s observation. Facebook – you are not the customer. You are the product. The point, of course, is that what you might think of as your data is FB’s product.

Second is Rob Cottingham’s brilliant update to the classic On the Internet, nobody knows you’re a dog.

While I’m not barking mad at FB, but I do appreciate a well-phrased growl at it.


BetsyThis is about my favorite cover girl. She won’t be spending the coming winter with us.

It was clear for a while that our home was not a good fit for Betsy, the hound we adopted four and a half years ago. I’ve tried via postings on this blog, on Craigslist, and elsewhere, to find a better home for her. There were no responses, perhaps because it’s harder to find a home for an older dog than for a puppy.

On Saturday, I took her to the adoption center at Angell Memorial to surrender her. She and I walked there. This was partly because the car was busy elsewhere. But it was best, I think, that we had a last good long walk together in and near some of our favorite places.

We went through Fallon Field, our local park. We went the whole length of the Arnold Arboretum, from the Mendum Street gate, around Peters Hill, across in to the JP side of the Arboretum and to the main gate. From there we walked along the Jamaica Way, with a view of Jamaica Pond, until it was time to turn up to get to Angell.

We checked in at the reception desk, then sat in the room behind there for a while. I filled out the paperwork. Then we sat together, just the two of us. I haven’t had time to do that since before our second kid was born.

So, Betsy doesn’t live with us any more. I know that, but I think I’m still in the denial stage. For example, it’s hard to train myself to the idea that food left on the kitchen table for a minute or two might be safe. When I get back from San Diego, I’ll probably find myself driving to the kennel to bring her back home.

But our home isn’t hers any more. I hope that Betsy finds a home with someone who has time to sit and talk with her, and just spend time with her.