NYC Living Part Three: Dog Envy
It’s finally fall in NYC, y’all! Don’t blink, you might miss it. It’s that magical week of the year when the air is crisp, the summer stench of garbage has faded into the past, and the frigid blast of winter is buried so far deep in our memories that we are pretty sure that it will never snow here again and we can finally donate our puffer coats to charity, thereby opening up valuable real estate in our closets, which could be used for more practical things, such as shoes which match only one outfit.
Every fall, all the beautiful weather means everyone heads outside to walk their dogs in Central Park. And every fall, for exactly one week, I wish I had a dog to walk in the park too. Then the frigid autumn rains begin as winter sets in and I am brought back to my senses.
What is it about New York and dogs? People here go crazy over their pets. Dogs, particularly, are the great equalizers of NYC society. Rich and poor, black and white, sane and insane… almost any pet will cause New Yorkers to interact in ways that nothing else, not even a good old-fashioned group protest, can do.
Anything that can be pushed in a stroller or tied to a leash is considered a pet here in the city, though small children are generally excluded because they don’t have to go to the bathroom outside (there are always exceptions.) I’ve seen cats on leashes and chickens in harnesses. Privileged pups are pushed around town in strollers. There’s a lady up in the Bronx who has a pink chicken that rides in a matching pink stroller. And some guy was recently photographed on the subway with a 3-foot long iguana on his shoulder. I’m sincerely hoping that he purposely put it there, because if we have to worry about THOSE things on the subways now, I’m moving to the Yukon.
Dogs still hold the place of honor, though. I have seen strangers put their lives on the line for a runaway pooch. Taxis, potholes, and tiny Jewish grandmothers inching down the sidewalk on walkers are no obstacle for a New Yorker when a dog somehow slips his leash. Cries of “Somebody catch that dog!” elicits a bigger reaction than “Fire!”, “Help, I’ve been shot!”, or “Is anyone here a doctor? The baby is coming NOW!”
In New York City, dogs are accepted nearly everywhere that major credit cards are. This includes the subway; though NYC law states that the dog must be in a bag or container. Large dog owners have taken this as a personal challenge; it’s not uncommon to see someone frantically trying to shove a fully grown Alaskan Husky into a gym bag before the train arrives.
And while on the subway, New Yorkers have no problem letting a bagged St. Bernard lick their hands or sniff them in intimate places… definitely not the same reaction as when the Casanova with the gold teeth tries the same thing. This seems like a double standard to me, but that’s beside the point. A dog can help you break through the tough shell of hardened city-dwellers, eliciting perverse reactions, such as smiles, from strangers. Kids will come up and ask to pet your dog. Attractive members of the opposite sex will ask for your phone number. (Well, it always works in the movies!) Now can you see why I am envious of dog owners?
But it’s not all puppy snuggles and Central Park frolics with Fido. There is a flip side to dog ownership here; such as the crazy people who insist on talking to you about all the dogs they’ve ever owned. Not the TRULY crazy people, like the ones who are staggering down the street yelling about the impending apocalypse or standing in the middle of traffic and arguing with invisible cab drivers about who has the right of way. No, I mean the sort-of crazy people; the kind who come up to you as you are waiting on Fido to finish his business and say “I notice that you have a Yorkie. Reminds me so much of my own pet Maltese, Lucinda, who alas, is no longer with us, though we had her stuffed by a fabulous guy over on the East Side, I can give you his number for when the time comes, God forbid. But he’s fabulous, you should see Lucinda, she looks almost alive. It’s all in the eyes, you know. She’s next to our mantle now. Poor thing, she had terrible digestive issues, just terrible. My first husband, Lenny, God rest his soul, would complain about the smell, but what can you do? She’s family! That’s not what got her in the end; it was the collapsed larynx that really finished her off. Let me tell you how it happened…” This is how 24% of urban crime happens here; it’s the only way to escape from such torture.
Another problem with owning a pet in the city is the expense. We all recognize that pets take work and money, but here in NYC, they take even more work, and even more money, which causes you to need to work, well… more. That’s where professional dog walkers come in. The good ones can handle upwards of 8 or10 dogs while simultaneously updating their social media platforms and keeping an eye out for kids on bikes. The rookies usually have only 4 dogs, 5 leashes, and a frantic look on their face as they scan the park for the missing one. This is why I could never be a professional dog walker, even though they make more money than most classically trained musicians that I know.
Still, despite the expense and trouble and crazy people, I want my own dog. Just for the week. If you know where I could rent one for the duration of autumn, please let me know. I’m not terribly picky; it doesn’t even have to be a dog; I’ve heard chickens can be quite cuddly, even if they aren’t pink. But I’m not pushing anything in a stroller.