We call him “Mr. Happy”.
A terrible misfortune has befallen his humans in the last few weeks so Daisy and I are taking care of the dog. “My heart goes out to you,” I emailed them. “Words fail me.”
Given the impotence their friends and family are feeling, I feel lucky to have the dog.
“That’s disgusting,” a woman said one cold morning on the Promenade. Marie and I looked around. Did one of the dogs have diarrhea? It took us about 45 seconds to figure out what she was talking about. Daisy was humping Tuppence. Share this Story: Tweet
The first time I met Allen, he bit me in the face. In military parlance, a “dog fight” is two or more planes in harrowing chase through the skies. I think the term came not from the dogfights that are to the death, but from play fighting. Knowing the distinction can make visiting the Hill […]
It happened yet again, not a half hour ago. I had barely gotten Bangor out his front door when Daisy barked. His ears went up and he stood straighter, his tail rigid, darting his eyes around the street. “Daisy,” I said wearily, “there’s no one there.” But there was someone there. She had smelled a Pembroke-duck-toller mix at the end of the block, walked by a man reading a magazine who laughed as my Labs strained against their leashes at that half-Enemy Number One to nearly all Labradors: the herding dog.
As we all know, NYCPet is stocking their shelves on Clark Street for an August opening. With four other pet stores within a four-block radius, I wondered if owners are nervous about the competition.
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