When my mom forced my brother to give up his little terrier, Boston, I volunteered to adopt. Not only is she housebroken, adorable, and not prone to annoying, incessant barking, but I had the grandiose idea that she would help me make friends with all the 20-somethings in my neighborhood. I had enviously watched them chatting while their dog’s kindly sniffed each other’s butts. Now, I too would have a butt sniffing dog and would instantly make friends, especially since she needs to be walked three times a day (the perils of not having a yard).
Week One: I met a 50-something year old man who told me all about his terrier that just died and then proceeded to join me on my walk. Which, by the way, was almost over, but I had to continue walking around the neighborhood because I didn’t necessarily wanting this guy to see where I lived. Fast forward to 20 minutes later, I’ve finally lost the guy, but have now missed my fitness class at, my new favorite, the Central YMCA.
Week Two: I take Boston on a new route to explore different parts of my adorable neighborhood and come across a little play ground surrounded by a fence. As I walk along the fence watching the kids and their moms, some of the kids run over to the fence – but are now hidden from their mothers by the shrubbery (cleverly placed to hide the fence… but only from the people IN the park). So as the children ask me “is it a him or a her?” and if she likes apples or goldfish crackers because they’d be glad to share, I was imagining an irate mother running over and accusing me of trying to kidnap her little cherub.
Week Three: We venture across the street to the Healthy Dog, Happy Dog store. This is a gourmet, all natural, all organic, bog bakery. Yes, I know what you’re thinking. And I agree. But I admit, I have to stop myself from taking a taste because their liver and beef cookies just LOOK so good. Anyway, it has since become Boston’s favorite place – and mine too, because they give me free advice and save me from paying the exorbitant vet fees. But I digress. On our way out of our first doggie store visit (now loaded with $10 worth of holistic doggie goodness) we meet Boston’s boyfriend – Roo. He’s a blonde terrier, who is so well trained that Fred (owner) doesn’t need a leash. This is certainly not the case with Boston. And if I didn’t know better, I might suggest that she’s suicidal, based on her proclivity to jump out in the middle of the street without warning.
Here I should mention that Boston is a snob and a sissy who suffers from the Napoleon complex. She will fight to the death and bark her little head off at a rottweiler or a Boxer, but when a hot-dog dog or a chiwawa walks by, she whimpers and hides behind my legs. The real problem here is: my dog hates other dogs. This means I have to run away from other dog owners, hence, I have made no friends with dogs.
But, for some reason, she likes this Roo character. They sniff each other and run around peeing on the same trees. It’s true love. Too bad Roo’s owner is a 40-something year old man. And to clarify: I’m not in the market for twice-my-age male friends.
Plan “Boston Makes Kendra Friends”: Backfired.
- ▼ 2008 (29)