First, let’s exercise our vocabulary muscle, the third most important muscle of all*. “Noisome” is a booby-trapped word. It doesn’t mean “noisy” for that’s how it ensnares the amateur wordsmiths who would deign to misuse it. Much like “crapulence” has nothing to do with actual crap. And much like crapulence**, the definition is much more satisfying. Noisome = noxious, offensive, most often pertaining to smell. Of course, noisy and noisome can be intertwined. Think greasy farts ricocheting off a hard plastic surface.  I call those “crowd-pleasers.” Anyway, now that I’ve covered my fart quota, let’s get down to business: dogs in film.  There’s a better segue somewhere*** but we must charge ahead onward forward, like a shark that hunts other sharks. Bulb-nosed early screen actor W.C. Fields once opined: “Never work with animals or children.” Sage advice because both are furry, short-legged scene-stealers. They’re shortcuts to the audience’s empathy, there to generate the “ha-ha” or the “aww” moment without any real work. Lazy lazy. But effective. Ignoring starring roles, cinema canines typically fill two roles: joke-fodder and heartstring-tugger.  In I Love You, Man, Jason Segel’s pooch pops up to generate two weak chuckles: his resemblance to his namesake, Anwar Sadat,

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