St. Doughball's Day

Well, I'm only 10 days late. Hope you're all proud. Spent St. Patrick's Day weekend with my little dough muffin, and she was so good.

I've never been to the Southie parade before, and let me clarify: it is no place for dogs. Let's reflect on the horrendous environments we transitioned through:

1. The T: Oh, dear God.

I assume most of you have seen Titanic. There's a scene where the ship is going down, and Rose and Jack look at each other from separate places on the bow with an expression that says, "We're in this together, I feel your fear, we'll get through this." I saw one other dog owner carrying their terrified baby in their arms, and with just one look I experienced the panic of the Titanic sinking.

2. Getting out of the T station:

Endless seas of screaming, wasted college students suddenly noticing that "Oh my Goddddd she's so cuuuuute" in some scrambled cousin of English destroyed by too much Jameson. Then, without fail, a chorus of idiotic drinking songs surrounding us. Oh, you feel bad for her with all the noise and crowds? Me too. But I'm not SINGING IN HER DAMNED EAR.

Somehow I made it to the elevator, which I'd forgotten existed in the T, and through the terror of just one block of W Broadway. Peach and I both ended up panting in a parking lot with (much appreciated) breathing room, next to a building where strangers were peeing on an apartment while the tenants fought back by pouring soda on the offenders. Maybe it wasn't soda, but for the sake of my sanity I'm going to run with that.

3. The pizza place parking lot:

I was able to give some cash to some nice, decently functioning boys outside the nearest operating shop to buy the little nugget a much-needed bottle of Aquafina (she drinks only the finest, duh). She seemed much happier after that, and I was relieved.

4. Walking to my friend's friend's place:

Pretty much a repeat of the T, minus the hot, sweaty atmosphere and complete inability to move. Every 3 feet she had a new admirer. These people were like me on a normal day -- it's like they'd never seen a dog before.

FINALLY we made it to our destination, and things just went up from there (where else could they go?) Peach got to go off leash in the fenced-in, grassy yard and run to her heart's content. She still had the admirers, but they asked before petting her, and gave her her space. She was one happy little lady. I say "little," but that's relative to a woolly mammoth. My arms felt like I'd been lifting anvils for two days after carrying her around for less than an hour on the T.

Peach and her new doughy boyfriend! It was a romantic encounter of epic snortiness.

Tuckered out and snuggling with Dan on the T ride home.

On the way home, my friend Dan had to hold her for 5 minutes at Park Street while I ran upstairs to use the bathroom. She's a dude magnet when she's with me, and it damn sure works the other way around. In Dan's words, "That dog did more work in 10 minutes than I've done in my entire life."

Her mom said she snored the whole car ride home.

Hello Again, My Pets

Last time I wrote it had been a year, and that was back in 2011. So that happened.

Awesome. Anyway, in a sudden burst of brilliance and creativity, I realized that re-starting this blog would be an excellent spout for my never-ending dog blabber, as well a decent form of procrastination as I feverishly avoid studying for the GMAT. Also, I think my co-workers are sick of assuming I'm speaking about friends, only to find out moments later that "Larry" is just an extremely affable beagle that I happen to run into from time to time. I remember the first time I spoke for several minutes about my God-daughter, the way my colleague's face suddenly twisted into a horrified frown when I fondly mentioned Peaches' searing underbite. My God-daughter, as you may have guessed, is an English bulldog, as wrinkly as they come.

Want to see a picture? Of course you do. Here she is, in all her smushy glory:

If it's not blatantly obvious why I'm obsessed with her, then you haven't been paying attention. She was even more of a gem when she went through her awkward stage, her teeth jutting straight out instead of wrapping flush around her top lip, her head too circular to fit her bulldog face. And her fragrance -- well, her mother described it as "a foot with parmesan cheese on it." Delightful didn't even begin to cover the sensation of sharing a room with her on a hot day.

But now she's developed into a lovely young woman, and I'd like to think that I've evolved as well. My dream now is to work for a canine-centric organization (think BarkBox). Don't know what it is? Think Birch Box for dogs. If you're not excited now, then kindly leave my site.

In the meantime, I'm very happy at my current job as a Financial Assistant at a top-level institution of higher education (snooty, much?) No, but really -- I love my job, and naturally I've mapped out the entire building for dogs. You'll see lots of pictures of Otis, another doughy young English bulldog who works in my building. People always crack jokes when I say he's a dog who works in my building, but I don't understand why. The man's got to make a living somehow.

Anyway, ta for now! Back to re-teaching myself middle school math and erasing any shred of confidence I've accrued over my 23 years in a single set of practice questions.