Jazzy: The Dog That Keeps on Giving

The kidnapping of Tinkerbell is just the tip of the iceberg this week in media pooch news, as Cindy Adams, friend of dictators, writes: "ONE year ago today my 31/2-year-old Yorkshire terrier, the only creature left in my life, was delivered to me � dead. Those who handed over Jazzy's cold, bloodied body never explained. Nor since called. Nor sent a note, condolence card, flower, message c/o a friend, his photo with just a scrawled: 'We loved him, too.' Nothing. " The Corsair knows full well that Adams tends to get, uhm, gory on the subject of her dead canine Jazzy. Cindy Adams is way too into gore for a Park Avenue Ladies-Who-Lunch type. Way too into it.

She continues:"My lawyer ran to be with me that night. Barry Slotnick understands cross examination. Their statements disquieted him. His wife, Donna, no expert in deposing witnesses but a dog-owner, said, after hearing them, 'Something's fishy.'"

And so, like all elderly 5th Avenue widows, Adams concocts a tasty little mystery, just so for the late summer, and it involves high powered sleazy lawyers named Slotnick to spice up her achingly boring existence. Adds a dash of adventure. Our Nancy Drew is on ... The Case of the Twisted Trainers:
"(Jazzy's trainer's) statements didn't make sense. He'd suffered bloody diarrhea at their upstate New York farm."

Whoawhoawhoahwhoa ... way too much information, Widow Adams; but the game is afoot and Cin is on the hunt:

"On a summer Sunday bumper-to-bumper night, in driving rain, they were hauling a hemorrhaging dying adored dog expelling projectile blood, hours by car to a vet on Long Island!?"

Whew! Purple prose and scarlet body fluids. This, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is precisely why people over the age of 70 should not be writing daily columns. They totally blur the line between that which is of universal interest, and issues of personal crankiness, like the cotton in pill bottles, hence the word curmudgeon, and, to wit, you get Andy Rooney. When last we left, the widow Adams was screaming, shrilly:

"Why? None on site? No emergency facilities nearby? No animal medical hospital in all of upstate?"

"Jazzy's veterinarian, Dr. Lewis Berman, pronounced Jazzy 'beautifully healthy' just before going to these trainers. His autopsy's deadly E.coli revelation stunned him. Jazzy's breeder Paula Segnatelli reported: 'They told me, 'We never lost a dog before.' Please . . . I'm doing this 40 years.'

A trainer, a vet, a pompadoured "dog parent" -- this dog was livin la vida loca. It was only a matter of time before it had a rock and roll death.
"Last summer, my Jazzy died in their care. This winter, my investigator was told: 'We never, ever lost a dog.' "Lest any other dog parent have to suffer my pain, I hired former Police Commissioner Howard Safir's security firm."

I'm going to let the fact that this lonely old lady has thus far brought in lawyer Barry Slotnick, former Police Commissioner Howard Safir's security firm, and, finally, all the reasers of the New York Post into her dementia. At what point does someone dose her with a strong sedative and take the column away from her before she induces further slumber among the reading public?Back in November, back when I was funnier, I wrote of all this Cindyana:

"Yesterday The Corsair came down hard on Cindy Adams' deceased lapdog and faithful companion Jazzy. Admittedly, coming down on a dead eight pound pooch with the full wit and ironical resources of The Corsair seems a bit much.

"But Cindy couldn't leave well enough alone, could she?

"And so with my morning coffee I was assaulted once again by a full page devoted to that annoying Yorkshire Terrier, Jazzy. A picture of the moist eyed mutt interrupting my french toast. Even in death that dog has found a way to get under our skin! Adams writes:

"'My pain was such that I lay in bed in a fetal position. I told almost no one because I couldn't stand it. Or understand it. I still don't. The trainer he's known since the Dec. 9, 1999, day he came to me has an upstate farm. He went for the weekend with his Yorkie sister, Juicy. He never came back to me. Sunday he was dead.'"

"Okay, let's just gloss over the fact that Cindy named the other damned dog "Juicy". Let's leapfrog the issue of Juicy for a moment. Let's just ... oh fuck it. I thought I was mature enough to walk away from it, but I'm not. Fuckin' Juicy. Fuckin' J-u-i-c-y. What's up, sister? (In his best Leroy Johnson from 'Fame' voice) You're old man's sick?

"Okay: back to the main argument: Just why is Cindy in the fetal position? I know that a beloved pet's death can hurt, but wouldn't her sympathies better serve the people of the Phillipines who suffered under the Marcoses while Adams was defending them in print to US audiences?In her new book The Gift of Jazzy she recounts the gory details thusly:'They said blood and everything was coming out from everywhere.'

"Only in New York, kiddies, only in New York!"