Shrove Tuesday may have meant little more to your dog than a few scraps of cold Crêpe au Winalot, but in New Orleans every mutt has the chance to be the centre of the city's attention during Mardi Gras.
Ten years ago, several veterans of New Orleans' annual carnival (the 14-day period of festivities in late January and February that culminates in Mardi Gras, or Fat Tuesday) sat musing over several hours' worth of two-for-one cocktails. The central question was: how could the carnival - when tourists and locals flood New Orleans' French Quarter to hear Dixieland jazz, drink themselves stupid and take part in parades lavish enough to embarrass Louis XIV - possibly be improved?
There appeared to be nowhere to go but down. Or, mused one, to the dogs. So to the dogs they went. The nascent parade society, known as the Mystical Krewe of Barkus (all parade societies are known as krewes), paraded a troop of 50 costumed dogs through the city at the next carnival. Those who saw it loved the idea, and the following year 500 mutts signed up. Fearing that the popularity of the parade would lead to a litter crisis of the foulest kind, the city imposed a maximum of 1,500 dogs, a number now easily reached each year.
Like all New Orleans carnival parades, each year's event has a theme - for the seventh anniversary, it was 007: From Barkus With Love, and the star of the show was a miniature dachshund dressed up as - cue Shirley Bassey - Goldweiner. The following year it was "Joan of Bark". Cue a procession of prams and tulle-draped shopping carts full of pugs wearing miniature cassocks and wooden crosses.
For organisers of the dog parade, one of the greatest treats is tweaking the noses of the New Orleans elite. Despite the populist debauchery of carnival, the krewes that sponsor most of the oldest parades are secret societies run by the city's most powerful bluebloods. So hidebound are some of the older krewes that when a New Orleans councilwoman suggested in the mid-1990s that they might consider admitting black members, several groups abandoned carnival altogether and now hold invitation-only balls in lieu of parades.
"We see adapting the rituals of Mardi Gras to a bunch of scratching, drooling dogs as a way of mocking some of the more self-important krewes," says Barkus's Catherine Olivier. Thus each year sees a newly elected king and queen of Barkus, each donning purple crowns and draped in faux jewels, ceremoniously paraded on a red carpet.
Unlike in other krewes, where breeding is seen as a valuable commodity, the Queen of Barkus is actively encouraged to admit to a trampy past. As a result, only dogs who were once homeless are eligible for the crown. In return, Barkus donates its profits, which run into tens of thousands of dollars, to local animal shelters.
Like the rest of the United States, New Orleans post-September 11 is a more sombre place - hence this year's theme: "Freedom's Best Friend: Saluting Canine Heroes." Highlights of the parade included a poodle whose fur was dyed to resemble the American flag, and a camouflage-clad mongrel riding a miniature B52 bomber. The dogs themselves seemed uninterested in the politics. They were just happy to have their day in the sun.
