Tag: Dog

  • ODDS and ENDS: Dog Haircut, Covid Conscious, and Just Doing What I’m Doing

    (They tried to kill him with a forklift…)

    My dog needs a haircut. Some might call that grooming, but I find that word problematic; grooming. She gets a cut every three months, so being that we just crossed into April, we’re right on schedule. Yet, the dog is hairier and shaggier than she has ever been. And she stinks. The wife does bathe the dog regularly, but the hair is so long, it just traps in the smell. I guess what I am really saying is that the dog is a mess. And she knows it. She looks at us, at least I assume as the hair covers her eyes, in a most pitiful fashion, saying, “Please sir and madam, may I have a haircut?” Again, that’s an assumption.

    The wife has Covid. Not very server, more like a mild flu. I’m taking care of her, and making sure she’s resting and being taken care of. Sadly, I didn’t get my Covid vaccine this year, so I have set myself up for a possible infection. If I’m still healthy by Sunday, then I know for sure that I am in the clear. As such, I’m being very cautious and conscious of my contact with other people. Mainly, this is my excuse for not going to the gym this whole week. You gotta be safe, and I like having an extra hour to drink coffee on the couch while watching DREW.

    So… the world might be going to hell or ending soon; who can tell these days. For that reason, I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing. I’m not giving up, and I will still see you at the March.

  • ODDS and ENDS: The Dog Groomer, Fart in French, and Ice Cream

    (We’re all excited, but we don’t know why…)

    I love my dog. I always thought of myself as a cat person, but once we got the dog… well, I’m still a cat guy, but I do want to have a dog from here on out. And loving my dog, means loving all of her, including the bad stuff that she does. Which is very little, I might add. What the dog does that drives us nuts, and we haven’t been able to get her to stop, is that the dog goes ape-shit anytime she sees another dog. Like growling, and barking, and trying to break free from the leash so she can go and kill that other dog. It can make taking her for a walk a very challenging endeavor. Anyway, so when we take the dog to the groomers, the dog does her normal stuff when she sees the other dogs getting groomed, she goes bananas. So, we leave her, and when we come back to the groomers, they tell us how great of a dog she was; so kind, nice, and friendly. And we’ll ask if our dog was this nice version, even when other dogs were around, and the groomers tells us yes; that our dog was even friendly to the other dogs. This has happened enough times over the past five years, that I have come down to one of two conclusions; the groomers are telling us lies because no one wants to hear that their dog is an asshole, or our dog puts on this tough act in front of other dogs only when we’re around.

    My mother was a very proper woman. You had to really make her mad to swear, and she did embarrass easy. Yet, she raised three boys, and there was a lot of farting. BUT, my mother never said the word fart. No, that would be most improper. As she was raised in a French-American home, she did bring one, and only one, French term into our lives; péter. (That’s French for fart.) For the first several years of my life, I thought everyone also used the word péter. When I got to school, I learned quickly that no one used this word. Yet, the tern stuck with me, and in honor of my French heritage, I have made sure that my daughter knows that péter means fart in French.

    And, I want ice cream for dinner.

  • Personal Review: In a Taxi on the Upper East Side

    I found myself, on this very rainy Thursday, in the Upper East Side at 3rd Ave and 80th. I had taken my dog to the vet we liked; The one the wife had found during the Pandemic, who was far away from our neighborhood, but as we only made this trip once a year, the distance wasn’t disqualifying. An Uber had brought me down here, and as I contemplated in the rain how best to get home, an open taxi waiting at the light decided for me that surge pricing would be forgone on this return trip.

    I was asked by the driver if cutting across the park, and heading up Central Park West was okay, which I felt it was. Maybe the FDR would have been faster, but with the trifecta of Biden-Obama-Clinton in town, and with a rumor of Trump hanging around the city as well, my thought was that the highways were surely clogged as much as the streets on this day.

    And it was a slow trek across Manhattan, which provided the opportunity of watching the city go by in gray clouds and black umbrellas. I’m never in the UES, so cutting through those streets was like exploring a new world. I wonder what life would be like if I lived there; if that restaurant were around the corner, or that coffee place, or how loud does that bar get on a Saturday night? How would life be different down here as compared to up there?

    If you have lived in New York for twenty years, you are bound to have taken numerous, if not uncountable, taxi rides, which all, more or less, are utilitarian and forgettable. But I do remember my first; JFK to Manhattan in the Summer of 2003. The cab had no air conditioning, and the driver blared Prince out of the speakers. And then there was what I thought would be my last after a goodbye dinner with friends; West Village to Harlem care of the West Side Highway – Late at night, the city lit up and passing in a blur.

    In my current taxi, a silent trip. No forced conversation, or weird shortcuts that are only meant to ride up the meter. No, it was a calm affair with my dog on my lap. I wondered why I still stay in the City, I wondered if I will ever leave this City?

    It’s easier now because all taxi’s take cards, because before that, sometimes you’d accidently not have enough cash, and that always made for an awkward conversation with the driver. This diver gave me a nod with a “thanks” when I tipped 20% and got out of the cab quickly, not letting too much rain in.

    Four Stars…

  • Short Story Review: “This is a Dog” by Joanna Theiss

    (The story “This is a Dog” by Joanna Theiss appeared in Milk Candy Review.)

    It is hard to pack an emotional pay off in under 1,000 words. Not impossible, just hard.

    Joanna Theiss does this rather masterfully in her flash piece “This is a Dog,” which is one of the best examples of a story paired down to the essential, the marrow of it, and at the same time, leaving enough gaps for the reader to fill in, thus allowing the story to come alive, and have an impact.

    The story is about a dog, if you couldn’t figure it out. And it’s about loving another, and the hope that you did right by them, maybe never knowing for sure.

    Theiss does use a story trick of starting each sentence with “This is…” I’ve seen this type of trick before, from armature writing groups to the pages of The New Yorker. Yet, I will say that Theiss does it correctly. The “This is…” creates a rhythm to the story, helping it charge ahead, and as the piece progresses, the “This is…” begins to take on different meanings from the narrator. Also, Theiss structures her story very well, dividing the piece in five sections, each with a specific narrative function, that not only builds to the climax, but lands perfectly at the conclusion. And that conclusion also nicely ties up the “This is…” motif, making the whole story feel that we have completed a journey with the narrator, who has been changed forever by the events.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Walking in the Rain, My Lit Mag Social Footprint, and Knit Blazers

    (You need more ABBA in your life)

    I got a super busy day today, and I’m only three and a half hours into it. Errands and things, you know. It’s so busy that I am writing this blog in the car as I do the Alt Side Parking dance. But what is complicating all of this is that it’s raining this morning. It’s a light rain, not that big of a deal except when it comes to one task; Walking the Dog. The dog hates the rain, and the dog won’t shit in the rain either. I know that this isn’t uncommon for most dogs, so I think many people out there will understand, but the walk still needs to happen. I’ll don all my rain gear, as will the dog. She’ll slow walk to the nearest scaffolding, as those covered places will give us the best odds for a successful movement. Yup, this is my life now. And did I mention that my dog smells awful to begin with? And that when she gets wet in the rain, her stench expands ten-fold? Did I not say that? Yeah…

    I posted a while ago about wanting to start an online lit mag/journal, and how I was trying to figure out what a good name would be. I don’t know if I’ll ever really do it, but it is a fun game that I am playing in my head. If I do do it, then there is an aspect that I am not looking forward to; and that’s the social media. Sure, maybe I’m over thinking it and trying to talk myself out of it, but I do feel that on a very basic level, to get people interested, there has to be a marketing element. You know, doing something the bring in the views… I’m not sure what that would be. Like hell am I making Tick-Toc videos. That leaves me with only one option that works on the internet, and that’s to just lie. Just lie about everything, and see if anyone notices.

    I wasted the last fifteen minutes of my writing time looking up men’s knit blazers on my phone. I need to work on the phone addiction.