Category Archives: gotham city

In the immortal words of the Dowager Duchess of Leighton, Harumph.

As I mentioned earlier this week, Eric, Baxter and I  are currently earning bonus points by fostering my parents’ dog for a few weeks while the spy and the jetsetting Italian vacation in lush, lovely climes. Suburban Dog is becoming more and more used to his urban jungle safari, but there are some lessons I’m learning–in particular, that twelve-year-old long-haired dachshunds procured just as parental units were attempting to manage empty nest syndrome, do not make for the most easy of houseguests. Indeed, they make for rather high maintenance houseguests.

I present to you, Suburban Dog’s guide to visiting human siblings in New York City.

Rule 1: Do not allow anything to alter the schedule you have in suburbia. This includes, but is not limited to:

* Waking up at 5:45am even though human sibling hasn’t seen that side of 6am in close to a decade.
* Baby carrots and/or fennel at 1:30pm even though human sibling usually doesn’t remember to eat her own lunch until 3 or 4pm
* Goldfish at 6:00pm even though human sibling does not ascribe to “drink time” when “the local news is on.”
* Your being crated when you think you should not be, even if no one is in the house.

Rule 1, Subset a: If anything does alter the schedule you have in suburbia, consider one of the following actions:

* Barking like an insane person dog until schedule resumes.
* Whining and sighing until the air around human sibling smells sufficiently foul that she actually wants to leave the bed/you and get you carrots/goldfish.
* Approaching human sibling and urinate, preferably on her foot. NB: This is the fastest way to get human sibling to pay attention, but she will not reward you with carrots/goldfish. She will, however, take you outside.e

Rule 2: In regards to other dogs in the household, humping them makes for good fun.

Rule 2, Subset a: This goes double if they’re asleep.

Rule 2, Subset b: If other dogs are humped for too long at 6am, you may be growled and/or barked at. But then the other dog is awake! Celebration! Time for squeaky toy!

Rule 2, Subset c: Squeaky toys also wake humans, but it’s not as good as it sounds. When squeaking, beware flying pillows.

Rule 3: When outside, if you have the opportunity to run away from human sibling, do so.

Rule 3, Subset a: The urban landscape is filled with food. It’s often available inside open doorways. Enter strange doorways at whim in search of food.

Rule 3, Subset b: Beware. Running toward the street will inspire human sibling to run after you, yelling your name. Do not stop. Do not look back. You are almost free.

Rule 3, Subset c: When human sibling catches you, she will use strange “New York-style” dog training techniques on you to attempt to prove her evolutionary superiority. She will pronounce, “I have opposable thumbs! I will always win!” NB: She’s the one picking up your poop. Who’s the winner now?

Rule 4: When in doubt, bark.

Rule 4, Subset a: If a solution does not present itself, bark more.

Rule 4, Subset b: If still no solution, attempt to get larger, dumber dog to get human’s attention by barking at him and/or humping his leg.

Rule 4, Subset c: If the human addresses your issue, but not in a manner timely enough for your taste, be sure to show your displeasure by barking a final time, preferably while staring said human down despite your Napoleonic stature.

I’m ashamed to say that all of this has happened. Particularly Rule 3, Subset c, which I’m terribly embarrassed about, considering that when I looked up from my excited utterance, three of my neighbors were staring at me like I was a crazy person.

The truth is, I now understand why my sister was so damn mean to annoyed at me when I was growing up. You see…I was the youngest child. And so I could do very little wrong in the eyes of my parents, who (metaphorically) fed me fennel and goldfish and allowed me to (i hope only metaphorically) pee on my sister’s feet when I wanted something.

I’m sorry, Kiki.

But you’d still better come get this dog in 8 days for his trip to your house.

I’m not that sorry.

Ok. You all know we have Baxter.

When he came to us, he was a year and a half old and had spent most of his life in Virginia, first in a pound there and then on what I imagine to be a very large farm, where he had many trees and lots of space to run. He met us here:

And he got out of the car in which he was transported from idyllic countryside to urban jungle and, trembling like a leaf, crawled right into Eric’s lap, only to stay there. Forever. I mean, we had to keep him. Aside from being adorable, he was also terrified. And we are not bad people. We are the kind of people who want the creatures of the Earth to be happy.

Never fear–six years later, Baxter is a bona fide (fido?) city dog. He understands intersections, he cares not a whit about horn honking, he’s polite on the street with other dogs, he knows to curb himself (ie, do his business in the street, not on the sidewalk) and he has most of our neighborhood in the pad of his paw, including, but not limited to: the dry cleaner, the wine store (excellent choice!), the owner of the local coffee shop, a handsome stranger who lives on our block and likes to feed him banana on the fly (I don’t know if he’s available, but I’m working on it, single ladies), and Sky Deli.

Well, it’s not exactly called Sky Deli. I’m not really sure what it’s called. But it’s the corner deli on our block, where I stop in the mornings to get my coffee for the morning dog walk. It’s your typical NYC deli, fresh coffee, fresh bagels, soda, sandwiches and kitchen staples on the fly. It’s owned by a fabulous, wonderful guy named Jeff who is–it would be an understatement to say–a dog lover. Jeff lords over his lunchmeat-fiefdom from behind the counter and is quick to welcome you with a “Hello, young lady!” or a “How’s it going, big guy?” And I would be lying if I said I didn’t love him just a little.

Especially because when he discovered that I was tying Baxter up outside the deli to wait for me every morning while I get my coffee. Now, when I do that, Jeff opens the window behind the counter, leans out, and has a conversation with Baxter. It goes something like this:

Jeff – “Hey good lookin’”
Baxter – Ears up. Looks at Jeff.
Jeff – “Yeah. You! I love ya! I love your face!”
Baxter – Sits. Like a good dog.
Jeff – “Just say the word and I’ll close up the shop and we’ll run away together.”
Baxter – Tongue lolls.
Sarah – “Hi, Jeff.”
Jeff – (to Sarah) “I’ll be right with you, honey.” (to Baxter) “Turkey or cheese today?”
Baxter – Stands up. Sits again.
Sarah – “Jeff, do you–?”
Jeff – “Hang on a minute, honey.” Turns to meat slicer. Slices fresh deli meat. Returns to window. “Turkey!” Throws turkey out the window, across a NYC sidewalk, to Baxter, with absolutely no interest in the fact that people might be walking by. If they get hit by turkey, that’s their problem. Turns back to Sarah. “What can I do for your, sweetheart?”
Baxter – Nomnomnom.

Now, looking at this from Baxter’s perspective, there’s only one logical explanation for meat flying out a window and onto, sometimes, his head. A magical corner deli run by a kind wizard, where food falls from the sky. Hence, Sky Deli.

This is all to say, strange things happen in city dogs’ lives.

Now, we currently have a houseguest–my parents’ dog, a longhaired miniature dachshund. And this dog…well, he’s not exactly city dog. He’s Suburban Dog. Suburban Dog has a yard, and rarely (if ever) walks on a leash. He does not care for the outdoors and, being 12, he also hates stairs. I remind you, we live in a third-floor walk-up, so this is a particular problem as one arm must be free at all times to carry Suburban Dog. Additionally, because it’s 100 degrees in New York today, I’m terrified he’s going to get heat stroke from all that fur and too much exercise so, yes. I carry him.

It bears mentioning that Suburban Dog is an empty nest dog, also, so when not eating dog food, he expects baby carrots, goldfish crackers and raw fennel as a snack. (Yes. You read that right.) Suburban dog does not understand city life. He never learned to walk on a leash, so he either runs as fast as his little (very little) legs can carry him, or he lags along behind in a state of complete confusion. I imagine him to be thinking: “Why am I on this thing? Where are we going? Why are we walking for fun? I’d rather not do this, honestly.”

He also is adorable, and so he’s used to getting much attention everywhere he goes in suburbia, because he’s a novelty. In New York City, on the sidewalk, during morning commute, Suburban Dog is not a novelty. He’s a dog going about his day. But he doesn’t know this. So he approaches people and flips over onto his back as if to say, “Hello, Human! Wouldn’t you like to pet my glossy, just groomed fur?” In New York City, people just step around him. This is confusing to Suburban Dog because his cuteness powers seem to be diminished here.

Suburban Dog is also afraid of lots of outdoor city things. He’s afraid of exterior stairs, of darkness, of trash cans, and of people who surprise him by, say, coming around the corner.

This morning, we went to Sky Deli as usual, and Suburban Dog was tied up outside of somewhere for the very first time in his life. Baxter sat, staring at the closed window of the deli as though he could make turkey appear with his mind.

I went into the deli and Jeff popped up from behind the counter.

Jeff- “Where’d you get the other one?”
Sarah – “My parents, we’re–”
Jeff (through now-open window) – “Hiya new one! You’re so little!”
Suburban Dog- Stares at Baxter
Baxter- Sit. Stand. Sit. Stand.
Jeff- “Cheese today!”
Baxter- Ears up. Good dog.
Suburban Dog- Roams ground, foraging, with no interest in the human in the strange house.
Jeff - Throws cheese.
Baxter - Catches cheese in massive jaws.
Jeff – “Little one!” Throws more cheese. Hits Suburban Dog in the head.
Suburban Dog – Looks up, does not register food. (To be fair, it’s not every day this happens.)
Baxter – Eats Suburban Dog’s cheese.
Jeff - “Hey! Little one!” Throws more cheese. Hits Suburban Dog in the nose.
Suburban Dog – Light dawns. Eats cheese.
Jeff- “Come back tomorrow. He’ll understand better then.”

I’m beginning to think Sky Deli is a canine cult. Certainly, Baxter would follow Jeff blindly. But that’s beside the point, really. The real finding here is that Suburban Dog just might decide he likes being Urban Dog. And then my parents will have to find their own Sky Deli.

Oh, who am I kidding? The dog eats fennel. He already *has* Sky Deli.

Meet Baxter.