A couple of years ago I travelled to Pohnpei. Yeah, I scored some good waves - a few sessions on the east side plus two memorable days at Palikir Pass. Fine times indeed, but I'm not here to talk about surfing.

One night while staying in camp a stray dog waltzed into the compound. I can't remember if it'd been hanging around earlier or not, but on this night myself and a few other surfers were showing it interest – throwing scraps, giving it attention, fussing about as many Westerners do with dogs.

Seeing the commotion, one of the friendly camp workers sidled up and joined our conversation. “I like this dog,” he said merrily. “I want to eat it.”

Although delivered innocently it was a faux pas of international proportions. Nervous silence overcame us. Much as I wanted to I could find no correct reply. Given more time I might've channelled Brigitte Bardot, or Gandhi, or Peter Singer and delivered a stern lecture on animal rights. "The greatness of a nation,” I would've said, “can be judged by the way its animals are treated."

“So you can't fucken eat them!”

But the words didn't come, and anyway I regularly eat cow and fish and lamb; my club-dumb hypocrisy was gonna be awfully hard to argue against. In the end I smiled sheepishly, gave ol' Shep a scratch behind the ear and whispered good luck.

There's nothing particularly unusual about chowing down on hound. Kids in many countries are kept strong and healthy on canine meat: Indonesia, Korea, the Philippines, and Micronesia too. Simply put, dogs are treated differently the world over and to experience this difference is the very essence of travel...or something like that.

A week later I was on a flight home from Pohnpei. America's Continental Airlines operated the route which island hopped across the western Pacific between Hawaii and US-controlled Guam. Most of the passengers were native Micronesians travelling between islands.

On the inflight television was an American reality show called 'Spoilt Rotten Pets' or something equally aspirational. One of the stars was a Beverly Hills-living owner who gave her dog facelifts, cheek tucks, and other plastic surgery improvements. Another owner had eleven dogs, each of them with their own limousine and driver. Yet another had a private chef prepare meals for the dogs in their own private kitchen.

Ludicrous business, right? And that's coming from an Australian who knows just how loony Americans can be - I'm adequately prepared for this sort of carry on. But just think how batshit crazy 'Spoilt Rotten Pets' must've appeared to those wide-eyed Micronesians? In America dogs don't get eaten, they get cosmetic surgery and degustation.

With all this in mind I've just learned that Body Glove, the first wetsuit company in the world, who count Pipeline charger Jamie O'Brien in their stable of surfers, has just released a new range of products. Titled Body Glove Pet, the new range includes wetsuits for dogs, floaties for dogs, and little beach tents for your dog to sit in while you're out surfing. That is, of course, if your dog isn't out surfing with you while wearing its wetsuit and floaties.

On the dog-bothering scale – where eat-your-dog sits at one end and feed-your-dog-caviar at the other - Body Glove's latest venture sets no new record. And yet Body Glove Pet causes me to sit like a stunned Micronesian and wonder at the absurdity of our American brethren.