Last Sunday we went to the Gay Pride Parade.

We had long deliberations on whether we should take Pontius Pilate the
parrot with us. Paul wanted to show him off. Pontius Pilate would
definitely be in heat, and attending his first Gay Pride would be a step
toward sexual liberation. On second thought, however, we decided to
leave him home. It was a difficult choice. All those naked guys
running around and screaming might have confused the parrot and made him
think that he was back in Africa (or wherever he came from originally),
and he could get nostalgic and depressed, or just simply freak out.

And of course we couldn’t trust his previous political associations, and
we had to assume that not all people in the Gay Pride would have a sense
of humor; they might take his demand “Sarah Palin for Presidente” as a
real threat, and we all would have to run for safety, or be embraced by
the counter-demonstrators screaming their heads off that all homosexuals
would die in Hell.

So we put our hopes on on Maximilian. Last year we took him with us,
but his looks were not up to gay dog standards. I don’t think we will
ever be able fully expose Maximilian to high gay dog fashion. All the
pink bows and fancy ponchos and boots would just aggravate him.

I remember catching a sad glance from the beautiful white miniature
poodle standing next to us with her fanciest boots on. The poor dog
could not even move, but she was the center of attention and made her
owners very proud. We could not place our pride over Maximilian’s
beliefs or comfort, however. Maximilian was a macho dog and a
womanizer. He was as straight and dirty as they come. He was not the
type to order an apple martini in a bar and wear flip flops.
Nevertheless, we did give him a flea shampoo and put a rainbow flower
bowl around his neck.

It took us a 45 minutes to find parking, and when we had found a
comfortable spot to watch, it was clear that we missed almost half of
the parade. Corporations, banks, non-profits, gay clubs, and religious
organizations were passing by, and we were cheering and screaming our
heads off with the rest of the crowd. The group of Episcopalians caught
my attention, as they were led by a new lesbian Bishop, waving from her
convertible. All these crazy-looking and colorful people made me feel
proud and happy.

All of a sudden Maximilian started barking and pulling his leash. I
turned my head and saw a huge great dane with a rainbow bowl coming
towards us. I wasn’t sure if the dog was friendly or not; judging by
her appearance, she could eat Maximilian in one gulp, but the dog turned
out to be as friendly and charming as her owner. He was a blond, very
good-looking guy with a heavy Russian accent who introduced himself as
Ivan and explained that his dog was named after the powerful Russian
queen, Ekaterina the Great. I looked at Maximilian and Paul; they both
were staring at our new neighbors. Maximilian was not discourage by the
difference in size or by the other dog’s famous name and lay down next
to her, claiming the place of her potential partner. Ekaterina the
Great did not mind and looked calm and happy. Ivan told us that he
lived close by on Santa Monica, and Paul gave Ivan his phone number, so
that he could call us when he went to take Ekaterina the Great for a
walk. It was clear that love was in the air, and looked like the start
of something new for Maximilian and Paul.