Leashing your dog during walks is a key to letting him know that you’re his master.
(I, however, am not my dog’s master. My dog is my equal, and we are both masters of our own destinies, bounding side by side toward our meatiest dreams.)
Your unleashed pup could frighten an innocent pedestrian who suffers from a horrible fear of dogs.
(It’s too bad that your dog isn’t more like my dog, who elicits nothing but giggles of delight when his floofy figure gallops past the pupils of friends new and old.)
It’s a matter of safety! Your dog could get spooked by something and run into traffic.
(How fortunate that my dog both knows and respects all traffic laws, despite having no legal obligation to do so. He would never set paw in the street—not unless he was at a crosswalk, and he had the light.)
Your unleashed dog could get attacked by another dog, and you wouldn’t be able to pull him out of harm’s way.
(My dog would never get attacked, because he has no enemies. My dog is a national treasure; a global sensation; an intergalactic, wet-nosed angel; and the chief archeologist of countless digs in my neighbors’ back yards.)
In a moment of fear, your dog could even become provoked and attack another dog.
(This would never happen to my dog, as he was raised as a pacifist. If anything, he might be provoked to coördinate a peaceful protest to raise awareness for a social cause that he’s really passionate about. Fun fact: my dog is really passionate about all social causes.)
Your dog could get excited by a squirrel and take off after it, never to be seen again.
(And how sad that would be for your dog! My dog is too sophisticated for chasing squirrels. He indulges in more refined hobbies, like listening to classical music, collecting rare bones, and studying the potentially satanic movement patterns of our elderly mailman, Hank.)
While your dog may seem O.K. with being off a leash, chances are it makes him feel anxious.
(My dog practices fifteen minutes of transcendental meditation daily and can transport himself to a blissful state of serenity at a moment’s notice. He is also a Reiki healer and a licensed acupuncturist, graciously in-network with all major pet-insurance providers. My dog cannot speak, of course. That would be ridiculous. But he has told me through telepathy that he’d be happy to give your dog a free consultation.)
Leashing your dog in public is literally the law.
(But my dog answers to a higher power and cannot be governed by the leash restrictions of mortals and ninnies.)
If you violate your city’s leash laws, you could be jailed for up to ten days.
(Send me to jail! I will use my one phone call to contact my dog, who is ten times more brilliant than any lawyer. He’ll show up to my trial wearing a suit and four little oxford shoes, and will seduce the courtroom with his fashion sense and legal panache. My dog will snarl in objection to every flimsy argument made against me—and he’ll be foaming at the mouth, because nothing makes him sicker than the scent of injustice. The judge will be moved to tears by my dog’s passion and dismiss the case, prompting everyone in the courtroom to hoist my dog on their shoulders while chanting, “Good boy! Good boy!” Our story will be adapted into a Lifetime original movie called “Burden of Woof,” and the film’s success will catapult my dog to fame, but it won’t change him. Not the way that fame would change your dog.)
