DogVacay on the Boston Dog Blog: Peaches, the Ultimate Boston Icon

When my friends at DogVacay asked me to write about why Boston is the perfect representation of my God-dog Peaches, I knew immediately what I would say. Here it goes:

1. In Boston, you always meet more friends with a waggy tail.

Maybe this is true in every city, but a canine companion in Boston means instant popularity. Whenever I dog-sit Peaches, I meet tons of new people who want to stop and say hello. I can't really blame them (that underbite), but it always surprises me. On St. Patrick's Day, my guy friend babysat the P for 10 minutes while I went into a restaurant to use the bathroom. In his words, "That dog did more work in 10 minutes than I've done in my entire life."

            The best people and puppy magnet
Even better, toting a fat, squishy bulldog (sorry P, we know - you're just big-boned) attracts new doggy friends. Peaches loves other puppies, and the ensuing photo ops and love fests are invaluable. It's a big, happy circle of additional dogs.

2. Rough exteriors aside, Bostonians are just big softies - at the end of the day, nothing is more satisfying than a big hug from Mom.

We may scream like crazies at sports games, but at heart Bostonians are traditional and family-oriented. A lot of that gets lost in the mix of being a Boston sports fan (it's a religion, okay?) and showing off that tough-guy accent. I love walking through Southie and almost getting run over by a big, broey dude in a Bruins jersey - just because he's excited to bubble baby talk at the P.

And let's be real here: Peaches loves her mommy and daddy. While she lives to run Southie all day, she's more than happy to come home to her comfy bed and spend quality family time (lulled by an orchestra of her own snores, of course).

                  Ready to snooze                                           That's Mommy's nose in the corner, and P looking on lovingly

3. In the Bean, style and interests vary by neighborhood. While most of us see "home" as the area we live in, some of us identify with multiple neighborhoods. Peaches? She’s a chameleon.

In Boston, people are proud to represent their neighborhoods. Southie? You're a true-grit Bostonian to the core. You can be found watching the game (well, really all of them) in the nearest bar and enjoying a Harpoon. Peaches would probably live in a bar if she could, although more for the wings than the beer.

Back Bay? You're likely just getting home and setting your briefcase on the table before going to Newbury to sip an espresso martini (okay, so I'm exaggerating the stereotypes here). But hey, some of them ring true. Peaches adores nothing more than a good, long shopping trip on Newbury (but any further than Pinkberry to New'bry Garage and you're pushing it). A girl's legs can only take her so far. Hey, it's exhausting being constantly fawned over.

I could go on and on, because Peaches represents every part of Boston in some way. She knows how to play her cards right whether it's the South or North End, Brighton or Fenway. And that basically boils down to looking toothy and snorting her way down the sidewalk.

The P enjoying a rest after a jaunt

around Castle Island in Southie.

4. With Halloween fast approaching in the ultimate college town, everyone is itching to show off their costume. Peaches avoided the common sexy-girl getup and went straight for the triceratops.

Most thrilled triceratops ever.

Most college girls are dying to show some leg come Halloween. Naturally, freezing temperatures and hoards of drunken frat boys are excellent motivation to put your most beautiful foot forward, and students everywhere are ready to get classy as nearly-naked Wonder Woman.

Ever the rebel, Peaches decided to skip the sexy outfits and go as a triceratops this year. She plans to go with her sorority (which, ironically, is made up only of two male dogs that she walks with in Southie). She's that girl - enough of a lady to smile coyly at the boys (or maybe that's just the teeth?) but laid back enough to hang with the guys and rock a triceratops costume.

A Joke to Wag About

A friend of mine just sent me this joke, and I had to share (warning: it's cheesy, but it still made me laugh, so I had to post it).

A dog wants to place a newspaper ad to sell one of his bones. The clerk asks what he wants the ad to say. "Woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof woof," replies the dog. The clerk says "Okay, that's nine woofs. We charge $10 for a ten-word ad, so you could add another woof for free." The dog says, "But that wouldn't make any sense."

In other news, here are some old pictures of Otis being smushy to get you through the week.

                 "Downward Smush" 

 

     

           Taking a break from killing the ball to just relax and be (smushy).

And you thought you had back fat!

Peaches, Official Celebridog of the Boston Dog Blog

Tell me this isn't the dramatic chipmunk.

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.

Bubba & Gracie in the Boston Commons

Gracie looking at a squirrel.

Bubba's fantastic face wrinkles.

Bubba's pretty markings.

Gracie eating a treat from her lovely owner's hand.

Happy Bubba!

Bubba sitting down on my lap to get petted.

I had the good fortune of meeting these two delectably slobbery and beautiful creatures in the Commons not one but TWO days in a row. It must have been fate.

If you want to run into Bubba and his sister Gracie in the Boston Commons, just head out on a sunny day and prepare to be overwhelmed with joy. Both are old-breed English bulldogs (mix of English Mastiff, Bulldog, and a few other breeds as I remember).

I'd also like to note that as I was in the middle of asking if 90-pound Bubba believed himself to be a lapdog, he decidedly positioned all 90 pounds of himself in a grand heap on my lap. Photos ensued.