Berliner on public transport: “Then take your Great Dane on your lap!”

The other day, I almost crushed another Chihuahua: Because his owner let him slip out of his fake Louis Vuitton bag in the crowded tram and squirm around among us human sardines. And because, in crush mode and in what feels like 60 degrees Celsius in the carriage, it's simply hard to be considerate of such a—pardon me—shaky, hairless, fluffy little thing. You're concerned with your own survival on Berlin's public transport , which has long since ceased to be fun.

Berlin dog owners are the new mothers of Prenzlauer Berg

Before the shitstorm and letter-to-the-editor crowd goes ballistic again and doesn't think for themselves: No, I'm not a dog hater. Quite the opposite, dogs are better people. I just often don't like their owners. Because, just like the mothers of Prenzlauer Berg, they seem to view their Hasso, Kalle, or Techno as an extension of their own ego.

In other words: what they 're allowed to do, he 's been allowed to do for a long time. So giant greyhounds simply lie across the tram platform and aren't whistled back, even when a massive stampede threatens outside. Let everyone else—whether with a baby or on crutches—prance or float past the godlike yappy. And woe betide anyone who even harms a hair on the bug-ridden, lice-ridden whiz, you old man, you'll get a real slap in the face. In this city, if you—like me—don't want to put up with everything, you 'll encounter threats of all kinds.

Doggies are welcome to bark angrily at each other on buses and trains without either owner batting an eyelid. Muzzle, carrier, ticket for the dog, as the BVG rules stipulate? Go home, you square. If someone is afraid of dogs—old ladies, small children—that's their problem. Recently, one of these giant beasts was lying in the middle of the aisle; my silent but visible desire to get past it was first ignored, then censored with venomous glares. I was like, "I know you love your dog more than the people around you, but can I still pass?"

Annoyed sniffling, then pushing the dog around, after which everything returned as before. My half-cynical, half-fake-friendly reply, "Well, then take your Great Dane on your lap!" garnered a few nods from the others, but also this new, brazen, cheeky comment, which testifies to the growing narcissism (it's obvious, no bullshit) in Western societies: "Then walk next time, you cunt!"

Phew, I had to sit down, even though there was no room left.