Peaches, Official Celebridog of the Boston Dog Blog

Tell me this isn't the dramatic chipmunk.

The Boston Dog Blog in Providence: Bun

Soooo you'll have to forgive me, but I forgot this critter's full name. It was very intricate, and it included the name "Bun," which was her nickname.

This dog was such a firecracker! She was beyond excited. Like, just-completed-a-Tough Mudder-and- having-a-beer excited. She would run up to my friends and me, pant with some awesome Pom-mix crazy eyes, then take off like a freaking bullet.

I want some of whatever she was on.

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.

Return of the Woof

Oh dear. So here it is... I haven't written in a year. Who am I? A totally different person. A working woman. But my dog-love has not changed; only my love for French bulldogs has tripled. Wait for endless posts on Frankie, my friend Lindsey's "doughy" Frenchie, who I am in love with but have never actually met (yes, weird, but did you ever really think I was normal?) Dough, of course, means puppy flab.

Most of all I need to gear up and tell you about a wonderful dog boutique and grooming place called Durty Harry's, which I visited recently, meant to write about immediately, and then didn't because I got swept away with work. Stay tuned for the whole article later today.

And in the meantime, any other Frenchie lovers, shout out about your pups. I love pictures of the dough. You know where to reach me: bengalengs@gmail.com.

Doggie Movie Review: "My Dog Tulip"

Midterms are eating my soul, and I didn't have my laptop all weekend... sorry this took so long.


My Dog Tulip
Directed by Paul Fierlinger & Sandra Fierlinger, screenplay by Paul Fierlinger & Sandra Fierlinger, based on the novel by J.R. Ackerley

I went to see My Dog Tulip at the Kendall Square Cinema last Tuesday. As a side comment, that movie theater is literally impossible to find if you've never been there.... Anyway, I'm dedicated to being an honest blogger and on that note, there were things (more like one that really stands out) about the movie that I disliked. But all in all, I thought it was very cute, and definitely, definitely something that dog owners can relate to. From a dog owner and someone who spends full days working with dozens of canines, I must say that the film feels like a breath of fresh air -- so many of author J.R. Ackerley's stories are so damned on-point. They're just things we've all been through as dog owners.


Narrated by Christopher Plummer in an agreeable and jolly British accent, My Dog Tulip follows author J.R. Ackerley's experiences with his German shepherd "Tulip," an untamable and passionate pup with a knack for barking and causing a ruckus while staying fiercely loyal to her owner. The film is based on the 1956 novel by Ackerley of the same name.


One brilliant step in the creation of the movie is that it's animated. Short of Disney, Pixar and Disney/Pixar movies, I'm generally not a fan of animated movies. However, in this case, the animation  made the movie hilarious, rendering certain situations considerably more gut-busting. The biting wit of the narration and the funny images made the perfect marriage, and I appreciated the difference between the humorous animation (when the drawings were purposely extremely simple) and the artistic backdrops with elements of light woven into in the animation. At one point, there was a landscape shot of a group of sheep on a hill with stunning shadow detail drawn in. It took true skill to create, and added vital visual interest.


The contrasting simple sketches often likened dogs to humans, dressing them up in human clothes and displaying them walking around on two legs. Drawn in clean black lines on a bare white background, these sketches were were lighthearted and easy, imposed between regular animation to add laughs and further clarification for whatever story was being told at the time.


Now, for my primary reason for recommending this film: the author (and therefore Christopher Plummer as the narrator) uses a sharp and often sarcastic tone that I absolutely love. It's my kind of humor, to say the least -- and narrator Plummer executes every line with cunning skill and a crisp dose of smugness. I literally laughed out loud at multiple lines and animations throughout the movie -- the synthesis of funny animations with hilarious lines was expertly executed -- and the rest of the theater was laughing too. This would be my top reason to go see the My Dog Tulip, and it's a major element setting the film apart as an adult-audience movie rather than a family film about dogs.


This brings me to the rather adult part that I was, to say the least, not fond of. When Tulip is in heat and Ackerley is trying to find her a mate, he makes some blunt, overtly sexual observations and tells stories about his dog's mating process that made me truly uncomfortable. While he mentions most of these things in an almost scientific manner, I didn't want to hear some of the descriptions and stories concerning the sex life of his dog, and felt somewhat disturbed that he found them acceptable to comment on. Of course, this is mostly a criticism of the book, because including it in the movie is only a matter of following the book.


But that's besides the point. To clarify my disillusionment: I see dogs as babies. I'm not a big fan of human babies, and in turn I save all my cooing and baby talk for canines. I act towards dogs as most people act towards small children and infants. As someone who works at a dog daycare, I can confirm that most dog owners think this way -- their dogs are their babies. They want to spoil them and coo at them and what have you; they don't, however, want to think of their "babies" having sex, nor do they want to be involved in the process of them mating, even when their dogs are of appropriate reproducing age. Would you want to think about your child sleeping with someone? I hope the answer is "No." The author, however, seems to have a weird affinity for closely observing his pup's sex life.


But moving on, let's look at My Dog Tulip as a whole -- I really liked this movie. The laughs and sharp humor are enough to deter me from letting the sour taste triggered by the above mentioned issue take over my view of the movie. Check out Landmark Theatres for showtimes in your area -- they have them all over the US, so no matter where you are, you can get your Tulip fix. Or pick up the DVD from a rental shop like Blockbuster, or an online store by clicking here. Bonus: somewhere in the movie (I won't reveal where -- you'll just have to go see it), viewers get a special treat and enjoy photos of the real Tulip, who is truly a gorgeous dog.

Beantown Bed & Biscuit on The Boston Dog Blog: Frank & Fiona

WARNING TO ALL CORGI OWNERS: Please don't take this first sentence the wrong way.

I didn't used to like corgis.

Weird, right? There was never a dog breed I didn't like growing up, except for these little bundles of weight with giant ears. I wish I had some kind of excuse for this prejudice, but I really can't think of any. In more recent years, I've found baby corgis to be some of the sweetest, cutest little things I have ever seen, so that has definitely lightened my attitude.

But the two dogs who really changed my mind are Frank and Fiona. You all know about how much I love funny-looking animals, and Frank takes the cake by a long shot. With humongous ears, legs the length of toothpicks attached to paws the size of men's Ugg boots, and beautiful black-white-and-gray markings, Frank epitomizes goofy. Walking Frank is essentially dragging a 35-pound sausage along the sidewalk as its casing (his back fat) slides from left to right with the movements of the harness.

If that's not cute, I thought when I first saw him, I don't know what is (I choose to block out the pain in the ass nature of walks with Frank in diagnosing my feelings for him).

Fiona, on the other hand, looks more like a normal corgi, minus the same beautiful coat that Frank has. Both are gorgeous colors and patterns and make me glad I'm not a dog walker on the Upper East Side, for fear an old rich lady would tackle me and dognap the babies for a fur coat.

Incredible markings aside, Fiona, I must say, has completely transformed my opinion of corgis. While her short legs and general heftiness make her difficult to pick up, once I've hoisted her weight onto my lap, she's a fat, snuggly paperweight. She likes to give kisses and chill with me on the couch while watching a movie. She doesn't bark and in all truthfulness, I would be proud to call her my own.

So here's to Frank and Fiona: you made me like corgis.

Beantown Bed & Biscuit on The Boston Dog Blog: Chelly

I've always had a particular knack for dalmatians. My mom always told me they were mean (which usually isn't true, by the way), but I loved them unconditionally. In my eyes, they understood me. We shared something, something that defined our identity, something that set us apart from all others, something that whether we liked it or not, placed us in our own painfully different physical pool: we both had freckles.

Needless to say, I was not a big fan of my freckles while growing up in the land of Baywatch babes oiling their perfectly bronzed skin on the beach. I was that girl whose mom attacked her with sun care from an early age. While my Italian-ancestry classmates ran out slow-mo style in bikinis on school field trips without a second thought, I was forced to dive into a 20 gallon vat of SPF 9000 before exiting the car by my ever-careful mother.

But I digress. Dalmatians don't use sunscreen, and their spots have nothing to do with sunshine. Californian dalmatians are probably no more emotionally scarred by their freckle-like dots than are West Virginian dalmatians, because like most dogs, dalmatians are primarily concerned with being loyal and loved.

Chelly will always be loved. She likes cuddling, giving kisses, and is beautifully different. I get stopped often while walking her because her spots make her special. It took me years to appreciate my freckles, but now I love them because it's what makes me unique. Chelly and I walk down the street and we strut our spots.

Beantown Bed & Biscuit on The Boston Dog Blog: Merlin, Love of My Life #2

The whole point of The Boston Dog Blog was Puppy Paparazzi for doggie celebs like Ms. Moneypenny at the beginning, so I hope no one's getting frustrated. As soon as I'm not getting smashed like a weak, wingless butterfly by all my schoolwork (me? Dramatic? Never.) I guarantee more Puppy Paparazzi posts from all around the city.

In the meantime, I still have loads of photos of my Daycare woofies to share. That said, onto my next love, and really you could call the true dog love of my life, Merlin.

Merlin is a rescue, but I would argue that he himself could rescue a person, as cheesy as this sounds, with unending love. Merly-poo is a Catahoula Leopard Dog-Spaniel Mix, and when I'm walking around the Beantown Bed & Biscuit headquarters, Merlin is still trying to sit on my lap. I hear from my bosses that this may be because Catahoulas want constant attention and Spaniels are sweet and gentle, so the mix creates the ultimate canine companion. He doesn't care that it's not possible to sit on my lap when I'm standing up, because all he wants is another million minutes of love.

Needless to say, when I am sitting down, it's a whole other level of the Merlin lovefest. He wants to give my face a bath and snuggle next to me at all times. We watch movies together, we prance around together (yes, I prance. Jealous?) and when I have to leave work and Merlin's still there, looking up at me with his blue-brown mixed eyes, I die inside a little bit. When I'm working with Merlin, the soundtrack is constantly "Let Me Tell You 'Bout My Best Friend" and I see the world through Merlin-colored glasses.

Beantown Bed & Biscuit on The Boston Dog Blog: Bobo, Love of My Life #1

Since I'm officially doing a fantastic job of procrastinating on my homework, I figured I'd take this golden opportunity to update everyone about all the glorious puppies that have come into my life via my dream yob (yes, I meant to spell it that way) at Beantown Bed & Biscuit.

Below is Bobo, a baby Boston Terrier who could literally make Lord Voldemort melt into blubbery love murmurs. He's so freakin' adorable that people stop us on the street to "awwwww." If he and Lucy had a baby, and I carried it with me, I would be unstoppable. It would be like having superhuman powers -- people's knees would just give out with cute overload at first sight (this already almost happens with Bobo and Lucy, respectively).

If I had one wish about Bobo, it would be to get a decent shot of him. Every time I take a picture, he's playing with Hunter, another puppy in Doggie Day Care. But Bobo has these incredible cloudy blue-green-grey eyes that remind me of some misty witch's brew from Heaven, if that's even possible. They're so gorgeous. I think they have hypnotic powers, too, because I brought him to BU Student Village and an endless string of squealing students asking if they could have him ensued. Even my best friend, who's not particularly thrilled with animals (can you say opposites attract?) couldn't get enough, although she did ask if he could just stay that size forever. Lucky for her, Boston Terriers don't get very big.

The other thing that makes Bobo the perfect puppy is that he's perfectly content laying squirmless in my arms and is generally very calm for a puppy but is capable of boundless bouts of playtime when placed with other dogs. In other words, he's a true puppy but knows how to behave himself and loves to cuddle.

There are so many things I could say about this babykins, but I would take up pages. You'll be seeing a lot more of Bobo in the future, and suffice it to say that if you bump into us around Brookline, Bobo's more than well worth the time for an introduction.