Sometimes when the weather is accommodating, I'll slip out at lunchtime and venture to one of New York's charming little urban parks. These are dense patches of greenery dotted with a few sturdy trees, a commemorative statue of someone you've never heard of, inviting banks of benches and some thoughtful groupings of flowers. While the usual trappings of a park are an appealing draw in itself, the thing that beckons me to the little local park is the dog run.

The dog run is a prerequisite of most NYC parks. Urban dogs must be kept on leases within most confines of the city so the dog run represents total canine freedom for the city's four legged inhabitants. The run is a small penned area of generous length which serves as a congregation area for the society of dogs, The joyous abandon they express as they approach the gates of the run is amplified into a riot of frolicking, barking and general doggie bedlam once inside. All creatures, whether the befuddled pug or the chocolate labrador or the plodding bulldog come together in the pursuit of an errant tennis ball or furious butt sniffing. I could watch this tableau all day long.

People here really love dogs. A walk through Central Park on an early Saturday morning exposes you to a parade of every breed and size known to man. And in some areas of the city, dogs are allowed to accompany their masters in shops and restaurants. Once, while browsing the aisles of a Bed, Bath & Beyond in Chelsea, I passed a woman pushing a shopping cart which carried a motley trio of dachshunds. At outdoor cafes, dogs are invited to curl up tableside where it is inevitably doted on by other diners and pedestrians passing by. There are dog bakeries that produce an ethereal collection of dog pastries and bagels. Some people make a steady living here just walking dogs. I think that's grand.

It's been many years since I've shared a house with a dog, not because I do not like them, but I was concerned about leaving it alone for long periods of time. I know dogs revel in the company of their humans and they love without prejudice. They are probably the only creature that wears their heart on their sleeve. I admire the special bond that Hollaback Girl and her partner, The Dog Whisperer, have with their two dogs; one is a rescued Greyhound, who now within a safe and loving environment, is starting to regain those innocent characteristic of his youth. The second, still in the late stages of puppyhood, is intent on chewing up the entire contents of their home--but she's also so adorable she can be forgiven these adolescent rituals.

Devotion to dogs can be witnessed anywhere, but in terms of assimilating them fully into the rituals of the day, the French have the right idea. I once had dinner in the fabled Hotel Negresco in Nice. This multi star eaterie was more posh and opulent than any restaurant I had ever dined in. During the course of the meal, an elegant matron entered the dining room with an equally elegant toy poodle curled under her arm. The waiters buzzed around the matron, settling her into what was obviously her usual table. Then they set down a brocade pillow on the banquet next to the matron and on cue, the poodle delicately stepped upon it and nestled in. When the waiters brought the matron her wine, they brought a crystal bowl and filled it with bottled water for the dog. And finally, when the matron's meal was served, you got it, a separate plate of a delicate pate was set out for the dog. This was clearly a daily ritual and like the rube that I am, I sat with my mouth agape watching this scene unfold.

Today when I went to the dog run to watch the general commotion, I saw some dog owners congregating together, discussing in serious tones what food their canines preferred. The odd thing was the common dog bond brought together a chic 20-something model type, a Rastafarian, an Upper Westside mother and a weightlifter. Only dogs can do that.