Dogged Stand

Ruff times in Reykjavik

Legally, at least, Reykjavik (pop. 84,500) is a doggone difficult place for lovers of canines, which have been barred for the past 60 years as part of an effort to control the tapeworm that plagued Icelanders for centuries. Enough time to give one pause. Actually, the city in recent years has been so undogmatic about enforcing the ban that it now has an estimated 3,000 dogs. The atmosphere is scarcely one to make a pup tense. Putting up whippet all, police almost never enforce the law (or collect the $200 fine) for harboring a bootleg mutt.

Now, however, comes a contretemps of mastiff proportions. It started when one dog owner refused to pay her fine. She was jailed for two days and released after the case attracted howling attention from the press. To poodle a little more excitement into the story, the Icelandic State Broadcasting Service sought reactions from, among others, Finance Minister Albert Gudmundsson. Readily admitting that he owned a fetching 13-year-old mongrel named Lucy, Gudmundsson unleashed a counterattack against the capital's law. If pooch came to shove, he barked, he would neither part with Lucy nor pay a fine that he considered silly and a violation of human rights. Protesting that a top official should not be above the law, a reporter filed a complaint against the Minister.

But Gudmundsson refuses to heel. "Lucy is as much a part of the family as my children," growls the father of three. "Rather than part with her, we will emigrate and I will quit politics." Despite his dogged stand, the Finance Minister is on fairly safe ground: he may be in the doghouse, but as a member of parliament he cannot be jailed. Before things become irretrieverable, one wag suggests, why not transfer Gudmundsson to Iceland's United Nations delegation in New York? New Yorkers, after all, are not only accustomed to putting on the dog, but putting up with it as well.