The Last of Eti

Sadly, Eti was later diagnosed with a brain lesion and despite a valiant effort was unable to thwart its quick progress. This website will be left here as a tribute and celebration of a short but remarkable life that brought much joy to all that met him. Thank you to all who have visited and enjoyed the stories, pictures and videos of his antics. His beauty, comic timing and giant zest for life will be much missed.


I'll repost here the video of him enjoying his daily run on the beach in Provincetown during our vaction in June. He was never so happy as he was during this time and I wish to remember him this way always.

Sleeping Dog

How could this happen? A young healthy specimen like myself. But alas it has. Here I lie quietly, usually restricted to my crate, nursing a herniated disc. And here I must continue to lie for the next few weeks, medicated, subdued- a woeful tale indeed. After weeks of confusion - they couldn't figure out what was wrong with me, and delay- medication didn't agree with me, I'm finally on a positive track. Things are getting better- slowly. PL is understandably concerned, his Halloween pumpkin carving and recent artwork pictured above reflect what is most on his mind these days. Manhattan Chien will take a little sabbatical but will return when this sleeping dog is fully rested and recovered.

The Daily Grind

I had a fab weekend. We went up to Maisie's - not just for the day but for a long 3 day weekend. There was some giant shindig so there were a whole bunch of people staying there too. I managed to con PL into letting me out at 6.30 a.m every day. Then he'd go back to bed and I'd have at least three more gullible house guests to do the same. I developed a new 360 spin - that adds a little urgency to the 'I need to go outside' look- which I'll have to show you sometime but for now here's a glimpse behind the scenes. This is what happens when I'm not gallivanting in Central Park or sniffing around the flea markets. This is the daily routine of a job description: companion. I have two beds- bed #1: vintage nepalese stool with raw silk cushion from ABC and bed # 2: Large Urban outfitter square cushion wrapped in a vintage cotton quilt. I choose to forsake them both to perform my companion duties - I'm up there on the work chair squished in with PL- who is really quite a fidget let me tell you but thats another post altogether.

Frisky Business

The title of this post references my failed attempt in the opening minute of the video to slide into shot a la Tom Cruise in that movie. Oh well -that didn't lessen the fun of a post rinse death match with my nemesis-the bath towel. Smothering towel awakens ninja spirit. I spin- pounce, hop-bark and crouch-crawl until evil looped cotton nemesis is forced to withdraw.



OK now I'm just shattered. Tres fatigue yo. We walked the whole of Central park- stopping only briefly at the Shakespeare garden, to drink a splash of water, stare at a rainbow and roll in the grass-hence the rinse when we got home. Now for a giganto nap to conclude the labor day festivities.

Shady Weather

Here they are - the dog days of summer. Temperatures climbed into the nineties which means as you know- house curfew for us B- Boys (bracycephalics). Miraculously it turned out that Alex, the girl next door was going to be staying for a few days. What fun I thought. Back in the outlaw days when we used to run off leash down Harlem lane- Alex was a fierce competitor- racing after sticks and frisbees, outrunning me most times -but that was then. I haven't seen her for awhile her Mom has been on a different schedule so I was curious to see what would turn out. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. She was a mess. She sulked at the door she slept on her bed and played with me - nada. I play bowed, I invited, I face licked- zip.

So we slept and we slept through the hot weather, both the air conditioners in our apartment at full blast their chilly drone keeping us in a drugged torpor. Alex went home (bye, whatever) and then the rains came- crazy rains and hurricanes in Brooklyn. But that cooled things down and finally after a couple of weeks of apartment fever we went this morning for a long walk in the Park. I'm not going to lie, it was tough going even though we kept to the shady parts and man was it nice when the apartment door opened and I slumped on the cool wood floor.

Damn Girl

I'm fine, really. I moped a little for the best part of a week but I'm fine now. I've gotten over the whole return to urban reality thing. I get it, we can't have everything all the time and PL says we'll go back next year. And, he does have point the food is better here, I was missing my beef with tripe and the kefir and of course my toy collection. This week was definitely way better, we did our weekly visit with Maisie and damn, that girl had some game this week. Awesome. And she's a lot prettier than Jerry.

Soundtrack by Justin

Higher res

Boats & Planes

"Lady, I'm just trying to help you" the airline counter clerk snapped at the passenger having a meltdown because our flight back to New York had been delayed for over an hour. "I'm going to miss my connection to London" she wailed. Well I had my own troubles to deal with. There was the kid that wanted to pet me every five minutes on the ferry ride. Then there was a hefty wait between our ferry arrival and departing flight and there were dogs patrolling the airport so guess who sat quietly in his sherpa without a peep from 5.30pm till midnight that night when we finally rolled into our apartment. Uh huh Thats right. Why oh why couldn't we just have stayed where we were- I was only just beginning to get the hang of all those crazy noises outside and I had just found a great new tug of war partner that very morning - Jerry. Sigh.

Home Sweet Vacation Home

There are some interesting things about our Cottage Studio that I thought I'd share. Firstly there's a screen door - an odd thing it doesn't quite shut out the smells and sounds of the outside and I can even see through it. Secondly the outside is right there -no steps to climb just walk out onto the deck and you are outside and its an outside with inside type things like chairs and tables. Thirdly when the screen door is open, I can sit inside and sort of enjoy the outside, in particular the glorious sunshine that lingers all morning on the deck. Confusing, No?

Provincetown Morning

You could say I am a morning type. Certainly more of a morning type than PL who needs a little rousing assistance in the a.m. I lie on his shin, lick his face, sniff his ear, whatever it takes to get him up, because mornings here in Provincetown are a big deal. Thats when we take our longest walk and when we go to the beach. We live in the west end of town so its a long,long walk to the east end of town where there's a wide open beach and more importantly thats where the other dogs go.

Once we get there I am allowed off leash and the first thing I do is mark three or four things- a dead land crab, a pile of seaweed, an old piece of rope-once thats out the way I just belt down that beach like gangbusters. I've discoverd 'wading' -just in and out to refresh and its back to the running and playing and saying hi to everyone-but see for yourself below - this is my morning yesterday.




You may have noticed that the video format is different - PL got a new HD camera. He still needs to figure out how to get the best upload quality on the web but just for comparison here's some footage taken with the old camera the day before.

Up, up and Away

"Can he stand up in there?" asked the uniformed lady behind the counter. "Yes, he can turn around quite easily" PL responded gently sidestepping the question. I looked nonchalantly at her from my sherpa, cool as a cucumber. She returned to her administrative tasks which she concluded by handing PL something and saying "Gate 31".

I knew something was up for days. PL was in and out of the apartment, doing massive amounts of laundry and giving out all kinds of anxious body language clues. The prelude to the big reveal was the extremely early morning walk at 6.30am walk after which there was an extremely light breakfast and we were shortly after in a Gypsy Cab headed for JFK. Short encounter with the uniformed lady as described above and we were minutes later beeping the alarms at the security gate- oh we have to take my harness off-duh.

We had a smooth flight to Boston but there were rough seas waiting for us there. Thankfully the ferry was cancelled and we boarded a bus to get to our destination. I slept most of the way, emerging from my sherpa in ta- da Provincetown where we are to spend the next two weeks. PL went immediately to the thrift store to get some quilts and towels to make me a temporary bed where I now spend my days daydreaming or gazing out the french door. So much to get used to here, the tangy salt air, the sounds- birds, people walking by our little cottage studio. Frankly I was a little spooked by all of this but after a couple of days of long walks taking in the delightful scenery, and many encounters with the friendly natives I'm beginning to unwind. I'm beginning to enjoy-my vacation.

Strike a Pose

So far my posing duties have been pretty casual, sitting nicely on a walk or standing still for a moment or two. Today that all changed. My modelling tasks were more challenging, more demanding, the ante has been upped, the bar raised. I was asked to look for the light, stay absolutely still and look thoughtful for a profile shot. The most difficult one was shot in part shadow where I had to find an interesting head angle to make it all artsy.

Final Run

Its here. The heat that is. I've spent the past couple of days drugged by the cool drone of the air conditioning unit. My walks, especially the evening one where the pavements and the evening air have been warmed all day are quite an effort especially that last stretch - the five floor walkup. Youch. Let me tell you I appreciate PL's extra little touch of a cool wipe with a damp towel on my belly at the end of that. How different it was just a few days ago when I ran in central park and just kept on running.

The End of Spring

You may remember that I have said before that Fall is my favorite season, Spring is fast becoming a close second - but Spring like the one we've been having this year, .

Unlike the past couple of years, where Spring was chilly April weather that turned overnight into sweltering May Heat. This year, May has been closer to a true temperate Spring with much cooler albeit sunny days allowing for the extended enjoyment of long walks and an undefined timetable for random trips. A much slower progress to what's up ahead - the summer curfew of a short few early morning and evening hours or as you know bad things happen to short faced chiens like moi.

Take this day last week for example when PL out of the blue in the middle of the day rummaged in the closet and yanked out the sherpa- I spun in giddy delight. Before I knew it I had emerged at 96th street where I knew Cantral Park was just a hop and a skip away, which was exactly where we were headed. The park was lush and green, the tree canopy thick, allowing more cool shadows than light on all the paths. We stopped occasionally to enjoy this better on the benches, of which there were many mid week vacancies. The park keepers were out in full force cutting grass and trimming edges lending the air a thick scent of chlorophyll that enhanced my preferred activities of stick chewing or made pleasant my posing duties. By the time we were approaching the end of our walk which would be 59th st., I was deliciously tired and while PL was crouched taking a picture of the mall I took a little rest and he of course spun around to capture this rare shot of me taking it easy of my own volition- usually I need to be told being the bundle of energy that I am. The moment did remind me that the summer heat is on its way and I'm going to have to make sure not to overexert when we are outdoors.

As I write this, the weather has in fact warmed up considerably. Thank goodness PL is making all the preparations to ensure the situation indoors is pleasant for me in the coming months. That day last week could very well have been the end of spring.

No Regrets

I'm bushed, wacked, beat, tres tres fatigue, I can barely walk I'm that sore and tired. I've hardly moved for two days but I have no regrets.

I had the best time with Maisie on Sunday.

Sprung

I was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to happen but indeed it has. Spring has sprung and I know this because the bluebells are blooming in Central Park. I marked this on my calendar last year when I came across a patch of them in the wooded north west corner of Central Park where we always start our walk. Last weekend, retracing the exact same steps from a year ago - there they were again their wonderfull color offset by the dark mulch of the woodland floor. Further along the way I sniffed a violet or two, posed by a stream and played peek a boo on the bridge. I usually love to roll in a huge patch of clover thats on a small hill on our route but the grass was too wet that day. So instead I made a study of some dandelions , posed some more by the cherry blossoms and revelled in the heady perfume of blossom in the air. I returned home exhausted- every sensory nerve stretched and napped the whole entire afternoon.

Social Skills

Last Sunday it rained buckets. Mercifully PL packed me into my sherpa, jumped into a gypsy cab and I emerged to be greeted by Guinness, a brindle Frenchie, younger than myself whose parents were hosting brunch. And quite a brunch it was, his parents are in the wine and food biz and the fare certainly reflected their educated palates- lobster filled brioche, mini pittas stuffed with lamb and yogurt to name a couple of the tantalizing selections that of course neither Guiness or myself were allowed to partake in. Sigh. However Guiness is a very energetic play partner and I certainly had a good time with him. He is also interestingly, like myself- a muse. His Mom, Phoebe, a writer with a recently published book Service Included writes about him when he was little in this short story here:


Social Skills
by Phoebe Damrosch

In the hour it takes to walk my twelve-week-old puppy around the block, I meet more people than I used to meet in a month in New York. That was back when I could stay out until four in the morning, sleep until noon, and carry keys, wallet, and phone – as opposed to keys, wallet, phone, treats, pooper-scooper bags, leash, paper towel in case he barfs like he has been recently, squeaky toy to distract him, bottle of water, and makeshift water bowl in the form of an old cream cheese container.

The upside of it all is that I have finally met my neighbors and bonded with my super. The downside is that we have very different tastes in people. Guinness loves Jehovah’s Witnesses. He agrees wholeheartedly that rampant homosexuality is the first sign of the apocalypse – as long as they keep scratching his ears and handing out those deliciously shredable pamphlets. Ditto underemployed dog walkers and trainers who love him like a paycheck when he barks and gnaws on their hands and jumps up on their legs.

Because he has practically no tail, he wags his cute little ass at the kind of people who point out “Guinness’ mommy” to their own dogs and talk to him as if he could answer back. He cannot, I want to tell them, tell you how old he is, that he is a French bulldog, or whether he lives on the block. Instead, I look at him as well, waiting for him to answer until they get flustered and go away.

My encounters with these people do not go as well as his and I find myself hoping for a cockroach or pigeon to scuttle close enough to distract him and free me from my misery. While he is licking the toes of the sandal-clad Jehovah’s Witness, I am trying to hand back her pamphlet. As I coax Guinness away with the heralding call of his squeaking rubber chicken, she seems put off.
“Well God bless the dog anyway.”

Yesterday, Guinness went over to visit a homeless man and began chewing on the sign propped against his crossed legs that read “I’m hungry. Please help me. God Bless.” Apparently, Guinness thought a bite missing from one corner would add a visual dimension to the man’s plea. This was after bringing a well-meaning elderly gentleman to his knees, weaving his leash into a moving wheelchair, and wrapping it around an unstable, terrified, and soon sobbing toddler. All of them held me responsible.

Then there was the woman who accused me of animal abuse when she found out that I was exposing him to the disease-ridden streets of New York City before he was fully immunized at sixteen weeks. There is some debate about whether such precautions are necessary, I told her, explaining that I considered introducing him to children, traffic, and loud noises as early as possible was just as important.
“That’s what puppy kindergarten is for!” She countered, adding home schooling to the list of my abuses. “It’s a real shame,” she said with tight lips and shook her head at Guinness’ future of debilitating illness, improper socialization, and the tyranny of a heartless owner.

The only people we don’t speak to – although Guinness seems hurt by this – are the people who explain that their dogs aren’t friendly as they lean back like firemen with a hose to restrain their lunging, snarling beasts. Is this what happens to dogs who skip kindergarten? Will Guinness become a maladjusted menace who can’t sit, stay, or relieve himself on command? So far, I have depended on a growing stack of training guides, but he only sits when a treat is involved, never stays for more than three seconds, and resists my choice of “Ronald Reagan” as his trigger word for defecation.

This was beginning to worry me – until my friend Susan told me that she had brought her Chihuahua with her to her weekly therapy session and was relieved to find out that, counter to what her jealous fiancée believed, Lola really was just a dog. Clearly, I have graduated into a whole new level New Yorkerdom. It is only a matter of time before strangers will be touching my pregnant belly and offering unsolicited advice while I worry about which nursery school boasts the highest predicted collage acceptance rate.

So from now on, I plan to train him New York style: walk fast, eat well, choose your friends carefully, and when it comes down to shit, it’s all about location.

Rear View

So my troubles are behind me now. Behind being the operative word. You heard about my ahem maladie derriere- thank heaven that sorry tail has come to an end.

Not however without three visits to that place where the dogs howl. 'That place' is a complete set up- first yay we're going out, scramble happily into my sherpa,then a nice lttle walk, then uh oh that place where lots of people are happy to see you and fuss over you and then bam its off to a small room with a lot of innapropriate, invasive, probing with fingers and foreign objects.

OK there were some benefits. For two weeks dinner came with dessert. There was the faint sinister taste of something vaguely chemical in it but it didn't ruin the exquisite sweetness of mashed banana or the tang of kefir counterpointed with a drop of miel de lavande.

Yes thats right I said miel de lavande as in from France or to be precise the South of France. PL got a lovely parcel fom the Côte d'Azur a little while back. Both he and I have struck a friendship with Jilly who writes Postcards from Pension Milou who sent us a delightful care package all the way from the South of France. I thought she might have preferred me over PL as she has written some very nice things about me and even has a picture of me on her wall but the contents of the package tended to favor PL somewhat. He was clearly thrilled with this box of Mediterranean goodness. He sniffed the hand milled soaps (he let me have a whiff too- lovely), spooned rich red pastes onto his lunctime sandwiches or snacked on cubes of pickled cheese or slices of sun dried tomatoes, his eyes closed, transported as I was when I had my (small) share of the young Parmesan to somewhere sunnier and far far away from cold NYC.

Butt I digress. Now what was I saying before I got sidetracked to the outskirts of Monte Carlo.....I've completely forgotten how I started this post. Oh well, onward.

Me Vs. You

So my old pal Magnus was just here for the week. We played, we napped, we walked, we sniffed, we competed for lap time, and we sat nicely for our treats. All in all a good time was had by all.

We are very different, we look different, we like different things but one thing we both love is a good scrappy tug of war and PL's got the footage over in the Cinema Room

A Turn for the Worse

I returned from a visit with Maisie on Friday with a case of the pukes. OK maybe I shouldn't have been partaking of all the stray morsels that I found in their kitchen or the stale kibble that lurked in the corners of the laundry room. By Saturday I had puked four times, but that was just the beginning of my malaise.

On Sunday morning, the puking had subsided but a new symptom reared its ugly head. I peed maybe four times, the last time being just two drops. PL's face changed color, his breathing seemed to stop as he saw the two drops stain the gray pavement blood red. We hurried home where he scrambled for his phone and I hear my name, in full, Etienne, as he makes arrangements of some kind. We spend the day very quietly, for some reason, I don't feel inclined to do anything but lie unmoving on my bed.

On Monday morning I have a rather nasty discharge but my appetite has returned to normal. Shortly after breakfast we are, surprisingly, preparing to go out somewhere. There is something wrong with the trains. We go back out of the station and catch a cab to the place where we go once a year.

Its a strange place full of people and other dogs. Everyone seems very friendly, they seems to know who I am but I have a strange vibe about the place. I am usually put on a table and prodded and examined but it usually ends and we leave. Not this time. This time, just PL leaves. I go into the back where they keep giving me water to drink. There are are a few dogs back there. The energy is not good.

I am laid on my back, I struggle, they insert a needle into my bladder. They lay me on my back again in some kind of machine. I start to worry about where PL is. They are handling me again. I begin to notice the cold blue fluorescent lighting, the smell of institutional disinfectant and the worried barks of my caged neighbours. After what seems an eternity, I'm brought back out again and PL is there. Hallelujah. Its over we leave for home. I have my dinner and sleep, exhausted by the ordeal.

On Tuesday morning things actually seem a little better, my appetite has completely returned and I do my morning business without any variation. I gather that I had a sterile urine draw for a urinalysis and culture, an x ray, and a prepucial wash. We have to wait for the results. I am more myself and by the afternoon I surprise PL by dropping Jitterbug, my Zebra toy on his foot after giving it a good shake. He smiles. "You wanna play huh?" he says almost with relief.

Coulda Been

I got class. The blood of champions courses through my veins. I draw heritage from the finest American families like the Coxs and the Enstroms. A notable ancestor being Terrette's Tourbillon D'Gamin. I coulda been a contender.

My English grandfather brings bloodlines from names that regularly crowd that other show across the pond, names like Glenlee, Nokomis, Twinhoe. Have I not the poise, the looks? I have however been told my pasterns are not high enough, but I could have worked on that.

Unfortunately its never going to happen. Ah well tis the life of a muse and companion for me. I confess, I do allow myself the occasional fanatasy about the big win and do the victory lap at the run.

I wonder what Maisie's thinking.

A Light Snow

Its gone now. A pale powdery sheet that softly cloaked our morning walk. By evening only the chalky crust of salt that had been diligently applied to thwart it, echoed its short visit.

What a walk it was, the brilliance of the light, the softness of the shadows and how deliberate were the marks of our footsteps and the curve of the park attendants vehicle tracks. The smell in the air was clean, the white blanket slicing away everything else but the air itself to be breathed in uncomplicated by the the odors of the pavements and sidewalks. How strange too was the quietness that the snow rendered and yet sharpening the crisp sound of our footsteps and accentuating the rythmn of our breathing.

When we got to the end of Harlem Lane and turned back, I looked down the length of it with an uncontrollable urge to run at full gallop right to the other end, but first swerving into the basketball courts where it was pristine and unmarked. I tugged and pulled at my leash to no avail. PL did however let me mark three small mounds along the way home, to my great satisfaction.

The first time I saw snow was when I was six months old, except it was deeper than I was tall. PL had to pick me up and carry me to my usual spot. It terrified me, this cold alien material. I scrambled so quickly into our apartment building that I actually ground one nail to the quick.

How wildy different that was from this morning where it was nothing but dazzling and beautiful and peaceful and like all the rarest experiences to be enjoyed so very briefly.

Jack Nasty

Mr. Frost may have been AWOL a few weeks ago, but Jack's back with a vengeance. NYC woke up to 10 degrees Fahrenheit this morning with the wind chill in the minus teens. Our morning walk was short and to the point. We actually bumped into Star the Rottie who we haven't seen in a while. Back in the day, Star, Alex and myself would run off leash down Harlem lane, chasing tennis balls and sticks and rolling in the long grass. Those carefree but outlaw days were brought to a screeching halt by the long arm of the law. I wasn't there the that day, it was just Alex and Star, their moms both got tickets. Sometimes if we bump into each other we might be allowed to have a quick lap off leash- nothing like the long sessions we used to have while PL and the two moms would chat and laugh while we played or just hung out. Not even a quickie today. PL and Star's mom exchanged hurried greetings in a cloud of icy breath and we were trotting quickly back home. We open our apartment door to the sweet sound of clanking steam pipes and hissing radiators as they work furiously to keep Monsieur Jacques at bay.

Hordes at the Gates

'That's a bad dog', PL said. I was napping in my usual TV watching position which is lying on PL's chest when I heard an almighty racket and looked up. It was the Dog Whisperer on TV. 'You're not like that are you Eti?' PL asked rhetorically glancing at me with an arched eyebrow. I cocked my head in earnest.....No, not like
that.....well that's not completely true. I was the teensiest bit bad today.

PL's deadline has passed hence the TV watching and this morning to celebrate, we went to the Dog Run, something we don't normally do on a weekday morning. Today, just like the weekends, PL sneaks me into the Starbucks near the 96st station. Hidden in my Sherpa, I breathe in the blistering aroma of ground and freshly brewed coffee and peer curiously at the pastries in the glass cabinet on the counter while PL orders himself a Grande.

We are soon at the dog run when another Frenchie arrives minutes later. I've seen this kid before, he's pretty good with a soccer ball, in fact he's obssessed with them. His owner mentioned to PL that he can't have any balls in the apartment because its a problem- he's only allowed them at the dog run and sure enough within seconds of entering the run he's got a tennis ball in his mouth. I remember that he's really not much fun because he's basically not interested in anything else but the tennis balls.

Just as PL is settling into a pleasant chat with the Frenchie owner there arrives a dogwalker with a pack of 6 or 7 dogs. By the time they are in the double gated entry there is a huge commotion, once inside the run we can see that a snarling and snapping Boxer is the center of the melee. The other dogs are by now all heated up. This sets off a frenzy of barking and yelping, an English Bulldog is racing towards the fray. Rock and Roll. I dash to join the heaving mosh pit. Within seconds I am yanked by my harness and whisked over to a bench, I'm leashed and told to sit. Actually I didn't hear a thing, I had an adrenalin rush so intense I had literally lost my mind including my sense of hearing and was finally brought round by PL tapping his finger on my rump. 'Oh yes, I see OK, sit, yes, OK, wait, what the heck are they doing in there, OK, I'm sitting.'

The dogwalker had taken all his unruly charges into the small dog run. The 5 or 6 other dogs and their owners in the main run went back to their business of chit chatting and ball chasing. PL let me off the leash and we walked over to the other side of the run. He picks up a stick and I am cued for a little round of fetch but waddya know another dog walker arrives at the gate with another 6 or 7 dogs, not quite as badly behaved but nevertheless agitated and also headed for the small dog run. I dash towards them as they manouvre through the gate. There's a small opening I might just get through if I'm fast enough. PL calls, I hear him but I didn't hear him if you know what I mean. I'm almost there the gap grows increasingly smaller and .....a booted dogwalker's foot thwarts my efforts. He laughs at me with evil glee,slamming the gate shut. I turn to look at PL who is fast approaching with a not terribly amused look on his face.

The small dog run is starting to look like Middle Earth on the eve of battle teeming with disgruntled Orcs. But they are all fenced off which is probably why PL decides to walk back to where we were. 'Come on' he calls picking up the stick to resume our game. And waddya know horde number three arrives at the gates. Seven or eight of them -all small dogs, Chihuahuas and Dachsunds and a wailing screeching banshee of a Pug. The Orcs are riled, the pug will not shut up and PL picks me up and walks over to the bench where my sherpa is and I am leashed and we are marching out of the run.

Wait. Hey. I lunge manically at the perimeter fence of the small dog run but Mr. Buzzkill marches forward. We walk silently all the way to 72nd street to catch the subway home. When we get in , the usual custom is that I sit and wait until PL takes of his coat, goes into to the kitchen to get a damp towel to wipe off my paws. I often sit then inch towards PL when he takes off his coat then again when he's in the kitchen I might move a few inches towards the dining room . Its like musical chairs, when PL turns to look or returns I sit bolt still. This time I decided, in view of the selective hearing, lunging, and general delayed responses, it would probably be best to stay absolutely stock still without moving a hair. When PL returned from the kitchen he found me exactly where I had sat on entering, faced completely away from him, calmly, quietly, obediently.

He sits on the floor to wipe my paws. A smile has crept into his stern face and he whispers in my ear. "You're a very good boy aren't you?"

Unseasonal Greetings

A couple of days ago walking to the dog run at 103rd and Riverside I noticed a tree blooming with clear disregard that we are still only in early January. Other trees are more soberly bare some even still wrapped in christmas lights and the pavements still thick with yet to be collected christmas trees that have been recently discarded.

Today on a stroll through the farmers market in Union square, people are in T shirts although the farmers are still offering the limited winter fare of root vegetables and apples. The weather is mild, the temperature a whopping 70 degrees.

I know this strange cross dissolve between the seasons is something that we've been warned about but can I just say- Global Warming doesn't completely suck. I thoroughly enjoyed the balmy weather. We came home and PL immediately opened all the windows. I chilled on my day bed, enjoying the light breeze that filled our apartment chasing away any trace of winter and gently succumbed to an epic siesta.