Pooches and Smooches

Kisses from the BDW (Best Dog in the World):

I realize he’s appeared more frequently as of late, and quite frankly it’s because I miss the ever-lovin-poo out of him. My continued requests that Momma J “bark him” while we’re on the phone are probably starting to annoy her. (Methods to “bark” BDW include ringing the doorbell and/or hiding his toys in the sofa cushions so he can’t find them. He goes nuts.)

And if he stays away from Momma J’s new lemon tree – which she has aptly named “Mr. Lemonhead” (No really, she named it) – than he might just still be alive by the time I make it home to Texas for a visit.

Since my pining for BDW is starting to reach epic, addict-worthy proportions, I thought dogsitting a friend’s puppy might take some of the edge off. (I think these are the kinds of statements that land recovering substance abusers in rehab … but what do I know.)

A few weeks ago, LD offered up her doggy Diasy – or as I like to call her Crazy Daze – while she went gallivanting off to Aspen for a skiing sesh with L Squared, leaving us in one of several recent “epic Snowpocalypse 2010” episodes in favor of spas and slopes. Good call LD, good call.

Crazy Daze and I started off our marathon slumber party frolicking in the snow and staging hipster puppy photo-shoots with Evie. Everything was wonderful.

Daisy will have you know that she had a Vespa way before it was considered either cool or environmentally responsible

Until I realized – I am NOT cut out to be a dog owner in NYC.

LD, you are a better lady than I.

Sure, it’s cute to watch your little furball burrow in the snow because she loves it so much. But not so cute when you take her inside and she proceeds to prance across your white couch with her soggy-snow-paws.

And I mean, it’s pretty awesome to actually be visible to the millions of New Yorkers streaming past you on the sidewalk because of your doggy accessory instead of getting steamrolled as they pretend not to notice you when it’s just you against them.

Untiiiil you’re late for work in the morning because everyone keeps stopping you to pet your dog because she’s just so cute and fluffy and spunky and energetic and oh-my-gosh where did you get her little vest, how old is she?

Another thing that’s not so cute is scraping poo off of cement. Grass? Dirt? What’s that?

For me, dog owning is all about having a backyard 4 steps away as opposed to a glorified parking lot 4 flights of stairs away.

That way, when you wake up to dog vomit on the foot of your bed (that you’ve been sleeping in all night) you can simply open the back door and let the dog out to continue being sick while you disinfect your poor comforter.

As opposed to the city alternative – hoping she’ll be able to hold it 5 more minutes while you take care of the mess, only to be sadly disappointed that you didn’t just let the vomit soak into your comforter a little bit longer while you took her outside because now you’re cleaning up diarrhea off of the living room floor.

As far as I am concerned: The suburban dog is in. The urban dog is out. (Man, I loved “Go Dog Go.”)

And as far as Momma J is concerned, this constitutes one of the best life lessons I have learned in my two plus years of city living, as I no longer wish to get a puppy.

Besides, I wouldn’t want to make the Best Dog in the World jealous.