The Mopdog and other Animals

Under my window there's a bar with a patio. The bar is on a square. The square's a place where all sorts of people join, lots of people and their animals. In the middle of the square there's an olive tree, which seem to resist the thousand chemical aggressions it gets every day. In fact, it seems to do it good, cause it looks prettier by the day. These past days it's been sunny and all sorts of people gather here. It was entertaining last summer, watching all celebrities there having a beer: Joaquín Luqui, Rafael Amargo, Anabel Alonso or the owner of the mopdog. They all boast about their pretty doggies, and as in "101 dalmatians", the owners look like their dogs (or was it the other way around?). Some have a pitbull and they are cheeky, sun-glassed and have horsy manners. Some others have a mopdog (one of those with long fur, which theuir owners turn into dreadlocks) and they wear pink mohawks, nails and so on. And some others simply pass by, but their dogs want to socialize and don't want to go, and lay down so their owners don't go.
It seem like the material world has traspassed an invisible barrier that couldn't be traspassed before. Some time ago, if you were a materialist, you had a good, nice car, the ultimate electronical device (meaning walkman, cell, I-Pod or whatever), brand clothes or fly-like glasses. Now, if you have all that but don't have a "dog with brand", the prestigious kind, with level, a façade of love that's not there..., if you don't have a doggy (the smaller, the better), you're no one. The down side is that you have to walk it, to take it out to poop, and that means aaall over the freaking street. Of course, why would you lower yourself to pick it up if you didn't even want to have the dog in the first place... fucking snobs!!