Corpus Christi Caller Times Caller.com - RoboPup will never equal the real thing

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Brooks Peterson

Brooks Peterson's column is published Mondays. Brooks also sits on the Caller-Times editorial board and can be contacted at petersonb@caller.com

Monday, December 11, 2000

RoboPup will never equal the real thing

I don't know what the hot, happening, must-buy toy is for this year's Festival of Wretched Excess (which, curiously, coincides with Christmas), and I don't care.
   With both of our children having reached the age of reason, worries about wading into frenzied mobs of mommies and daddies clawing, flailing and shoving one another in a frenzied effort to secure the last Cabbage Patch doll, or whatever, are behind me now. Gift certificates from stereo shops and clothing stores - not to mention tightly rolled wads of paper currency, have moved to the head of the list. 'Course, mom and dad do try, not always successfully, to come up with something mildly exciting each year. ("A manicure set! Oh, wow!" "New socks! I . . . hardly know what to say.")
   But even though I no longer have a stake in the game, I do pick up a few odds and ends about the Yuletide consumer scene just by cranking up the TV now and then. And I've noticed an intriguing but sort of spooky new genre created by the endlessly inventive toy people who each year make it their business to separate us from our dollars:
   The electronic dog.
   Now, these creatures come in any number of guises and under any number of labels. For the sake of convenience, we'll just call this latest arrival on the scene RoboPup.
   The idea, as I dimly comprehend it, is that this electro-mechanical critter will do all manner of canine stuff. RoboPup will bark, roll over, sit up, beg, and perform any number of other functions, depending on whether you go the econo-dog route or the ritzy-dog route.
   "It's just like having a real dog," an unctuous voice-over intones . . . except for the need to clean up the, shall we say, fragrant organic material that is always to be found where canines congregate.
   Now, this is a selling point not lightly to be dismissed. It strikes home with even greater force today, since I began my day by staggering out to my vehicle, climbing into it, and reaching the Caller-Times parking lot . . . there to notice that I had somehow managed to put a foot wrong while traversing the front yard.
   This is not a great way to start your day. In fact, it's downright depressing. Call it the Long, Dark Night of the Sole. (Get it?)
   Notwithstanding all that, however, I must take issue with the RoboPup people. It isn't just like having a real dog. Not even if your mechanical Fido acquires the capability of irrigating fire hydrants via the old lifted-leg salute.
   The only thing like having a real dog is . . . having a real dog.
   RoboPup might be good for a couple of yuks, but come on: What kind of relationship are we really looking at here, anyway?
   I suppose our bionic canine could be programmed to do just about anything - but what are the odds he'll ever dig his way under the fence and lead you on a merry chase through the neighborhood as you crash through meticulously tended shrubbery, alternately shouting entreaties and hurl curses at the wayward pooch?
   With RoboPup, will you ever have to make the kind of choice that's confronted me - toting a portly beagle home, or hanging onto his collar and weaving my way back doubled over like a pretzel?
   There are some thrills even technology can't buy for you.
   But that's not the half of it. No matter how meticulously he has been programmed, RoboPup will never be able to deliver the kind of emotional uplift that even the most disreputable real mutt can, and will. A dog owner knows that, even if he's had a spectacularly lousy day on the job, even if he's been psychically dissed, spindled and mutilated, he can count on coming home to a rapturous, wildly affectionate welcome from his pooch, or pooches - particularly if he remembers to take a can of Alpo along with him.
   A few months ago, there was an article in Atlantic Monthly, the thrust of which was that your dog doesn't really love you: He/she is just acting out certain behavior patterns, and . . .
   And at about that point, I put the thing down. The guy could be right, but if he is, I don't want to know it.
   My dogs love me, dang it, and I love them right back - even when they awaken me in the dark of night barking at a frog in their water dish.
   And that's the name of that tune. If you don't buy into it, well . . . there's always RoboPup.


Murphy Givens

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