Last Friday, Tiger Woods staged a heavily choreographed “press conference,” which had little press and no conference. One thing it did have was viewers. Obama could call an end to the Iraq and Afghanistan wars and it wouldn’t get Tiger’s ratings. Hopefully, Obama’s speech would be more vibrant. Reading word for word, Tiger sounded like a cyborg on anti-depressants. (My apologies to anyone in either category.)

The only person Tiger should be apologizing to is Elin, who was conspicuously absent. Not so.

Tiger’s mother was none too happy. I believe the technical term to describe Kultida would be “pissed off!”

Some readers question why Tiger apologized at all. Anthony B., a self-admitted misogynist and malcontent, thinks that, instead of apologizing, Tiger should be bragging. I’m guessing that Anthony B. is probably not in public relations or a member of the National Organization for Women.

Frankly, I’m still curious about where Tiger was going on that Thanksgiving at 2:30 a.m. and barefoot? To 7-Eleven for a can of cranberry sauce? And what was Elin doing with a 9-iron? Hearing a car crash outside I could see one grabbing a fire extinguisher, a Jaws of Life (assuming you have one lying around) or a cell phone. But golf club? Unless, of course, I was planning on chipping golf balls after the paramedics left.

I watched Tiger’s mea culpa with Oscar, my golden retriever buddy. But, half way into the 13-minute screed (10 minutes too long), Oscar wanted to go outside. Perhaps Tiger’s B.S.. triggered a poop. (Oscar, not Tiger.)

Oscar went to my front door and delivered one, ear piercing, bark. He doesn’t mince barks. And it’s more declaration than request: “Outside, now!”

Actually, I needed to go on Main Street to get some copies of Friday’s Daily Press. Over the years, neighbors have asked if I would leave one at their door, giving me a mini paper route. I sometimes wonder if what separates me from Maureen Dowd of the N.Y. Times, (other than a Pulitzer Prize and breasts) is that I hand deliver my columns and I’m assuming she doesn’t.

So, Oscar and I were walking on Main Street when suddenly he pulled me toward a furniture store. Oscar rarely pulls, but, at 85 pounds, when he does pull he’s not subtle. Curiously, there was a grass mat in front, which seemed odd for a furniture store. But Oscar was insistent, and if I’ve learned anything from hanging with him, it’s that in this dog I trust. So we stepped into the entryway.

Alison, a very pleasant woman, came out from behind the counter and motioned us in. Flirtatiously, Oscar wagged his tail as if to say, “How have I lived this long without you?” Also smitten, Alison asked if she could give him a “treat,” a word Oscar not only understands, but could probably spell in a pinch. Meanwhile I’m wondering what are the odds that a furniture store has doggie treats.

As I looked around and noticed leashes, collars and doggie toys, it dawned on me that perhaps this was not a furniture store after all. (And people say I’m slow on the uptake.) It was a pet supply store. Or, to be more accurate, the Animal Wellness Center, which had opened only two weeks ago.

AWC is located at 2803 Main St., two blocks south of Ocean Park Boulevard, on the east side of the street. While years ago it was Bobbi Leonard Furniture, and numerous things since, now it’s doggie heaven. Founder, and resident veterinarian, Dr. Annie Harvilicz, hired a Hollywood architect who took a Japanese minimalist approach in creating a cross between an Apple Store, Pinkberry and “Disneyland for dogs.”

Among the many unique features of AWC is a “mobile” vet who makes house calls (less stressful for the animal). AWC plans on becoming a resource for the community with vaccination clinics, pet seminars, and a doggie happy hour, where, after smelling behinds, one dog might say to the other, “So, do you live around here?”

I have a feeling that quite soon animals and animal lovers in Ocean Park are going to be very grateful to have AWC in the hood. Oscar already is.

By the time we got back home, all the networks were featuring endless Tiger “post-press-conference” analysis with pompous pundits pontificating. For conspiracy buffs, maybe Jack Nicklaus arranged for Tigers’ mistresses?

In drawing a parallel, one could say that Oscar and Tiger are dogs addicted to “treats.” The only difference is Oscar doesn’t have to go to rehab.

Oscar took his poop and made a Main Street treat connection. I, on the other hand, would have preferred that, instead of Tiger’s pointless press conference, it had been Obama announcing the end of the Iraq and Afghan wars. At least Oscar was happy.

To learn more about AWC go to Jack can be reached at

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