Catching up...and a couple firsts

Well, yes, it's been a while. Like...I'm counting here...somewhere around 6 months.
Sorry about that. It's not that we haven't had plenty of run-ins and excitement to report...I've just been a little busy. A handful of choice moments for you:

• Myla and her buddy Shadow bringing home the bacon, literally, on Christmas, taking down a boar in California river country. Don't worry, all animals recovered.
  
• Myla flying across the country to see her grandparents, lounging on the red carpet at the airport where she tried to attack a SERVICE dog before her Benadryl kicked in.
• Our first east coast snow storms which dumped over two feet in the park, allowing for 2-story-tall snowmen, which Myla and I climbed up every night for weeks.
• Myla's first squirrel, which she caught and instantly shook to death in the park, then paraded around for an hour without letting me get close enough to catch her. Soon after, she found an already-dead squirrel and--after presenting it to some children-- actually buried the animal and calmly came back to me.
• About 20 dog fights, none with blood, all incredibly unpleasant. Our friend Matt and fellow boxer-owner, also an FBI agent, helped break up a lot of them with a quick dive and tackle. I've developed a flawless hind-leg grab. I'm really sorry I didn't post these on here. You wouldn't believe some of the comments.
  
• Our first "training" collar, which helped calm generally skittish Park Slopers for a while, till Myla and her best bud Segy chewed it off in a late-night park romp, never to be found again.
  

So those are some highlights...

On our run tonight (75 degrees and lovely), Myla took a keen interest in the gutters. In the last couple weeks she seems to have truly become a city dog, first peeing on the sidewalk (as opposed to dirt), and tonight, curbing herself like she could read all the obnoxious little signs telling dogs not to shit in the tree wells. A couple minutes later, also in the gutter, Myla discovered our first opossum, curled up like a big round rat in the shadows of a tire. I thought it was dead, and was preparing to pull Myla away, but instead she nudged it with her nose and the animal instantly skittered away, shrinking impossibly to fit through a hole in the sewer cover, its tail slinking up, as it awaited a return to its solitude.

The other night my friend, a storyteller and a climber, was telling me about an essay he's writing for Rock and Ice wherein he describes city life in NYC as a bouldering problem, the climber hanging over jagged rocks with every move. At first he took issue when I tried to fit my walks with Myla into his analogy, but after a few examples, I think he understood. Each time we leave our apartment, we're walking into an adventure. And you never know how it's going to end.

Bat Dog to the Rescue!

Dear Prospect Park Rangers,

I hope this letter finds you well, wherever it may find you. I'm writing to offer my dog's services to your park enforcement team. Once you see Bat Dog in action, I'm sure you'll be thrilled to add her to your crew!

As it turns out, you've actually met her, though not at her fullest glory. She was the pup who was going nuts over her stick this morning, at 9:00:08 am, when you attempted to ticket me for an off leash dog? I know it might be hard to recall, as there were so many other dogs around at that precise moment, their owners leading them off the field in every other direction, but I was the one who told you I didn't have any ID on me and then blatantly ignored your calls of

"Miss! Miss!" as I finally leashed my dog and exited up [ABOVE: Bat Dog on patrol] towards Grand Army Plaza? You must remember, because you gave chase, you know, in your toy-cop SUV? I believe you also threatened me with a summons, promising I'd get one next time? But I digress!

Believe it or not, I'm really writing in an effort to help you guys. We're all on the same side, after all. I love Prospect Park! I spend anywhere from 2 to 5 hours in it EVERY DAY of the year. I tell my friends and family how amazing it is. I carry extra dog poop bags. I pick up trash. I stop for bikers and baby strollers. I scold my dog for chasing squirrels. And best of all, Bat Dog and I are making it a safer place for everyone!

I've often looked for you early in the morning, or later in the afternoon, for instance, when some sketchball threatens the peace and safety of park pedestrians around them. On these occasions, I've assumed you were busy, cleaning up some of the used condoms or empty injection cartridges Bat Dog sniffs out while romping in her unregulated glory. But then, these piles seem to stay undisturbed. Don't worry though, while you're waiting in that really long Dunkin Donuts line, or working your gut out from under the steering wheel, Bat Dog's got your back.

Take last weekend for instance, Bat Dog and I teamed up to frighten a tall man in a grey hooded "NEVADA 22" sweatshirt into putting his penis back in his pants. It was really amazing. You shoulda been there! The man was just off the path from the Long Meadow into the woods, one hand stroking himself, when we approached. Bat Dog immediately barked, crashing in the trees around the man in loud circles. The man appeared unfazed until I informed him that he might want to put "it" back in his pants as Bat Dog liked to bite those off. Within moments, his offensive behavior came to a halt and Bat Dog and I left to find you. But alas, we found no such help, and left the park to perform our next act of public service.

As you can see, Bat Dog, acting without any badge of her own, has already made great strides towards a model for park stewardship. If your visions are as grand as mine, I have no doubt that we can make Prospect Park a better place for both men and women as well as their best friends.

I look forward to hearing back from you.

Most Sincerely,

J.R.D. & Bad Dog

Wanna go for a walk? Video!

In honor of my mom's 50th birthday, I recorded a sappy little video as a means to take her on a walk with me and Myla. One beauty of technology is that you can come too!

http://www.vimeo.com/6547490

As you'll see, Myla (not my mom) seems to be the main star. Check it out for footage of Prospect Park on a Saturday morning. Also check it out for footage of me being appropriately mushy for my mom...

McLuvin and the Dong-Shaped Dog Toy

I could say that the thing Myla's good at is sympathy, as if the hollowed space in the pillows were a Hallmark card sent to show me that I'm not alone....not a sign of Queen Myla's ever-expanding empire, slobbering in the down before returning to her bed without even a snuggle. Or maybe this is all just another example of one-up-woman-ship as now even my four-legged friend has got a boyfriend.

He sauntered into our world on a fine Sunday morning. His brindle brown coat sparkled in the sun. His stub stood tall, beginning to beat back and forth as he sniffed in her scent. She did not release the dong-shaped toy from her jowls as he came up to her snout. Instead she growled and ran off in the other direction. And so began the courtship of the cutest new Boxer couple.

Segundo, true to his name, is now my second favorite dog. True to his still-intact genetic package, it should also serve as no surprise that he's absolutely obsessed with Myla's phallic-shaped toy. She has also proved to be quite a typical female in his presence as all her bitchiness evaporates into feigned indifference as Seggie runs circles around her with the toy jutting out of his mouth. His behavior says simply, "Her dong is mine. You mighta had it once, but I got it all the time. This. Girl. Is. Mine."

But this Labor Day, Seggie had to work for his attention as McLuvin, a golden Labrador and his pup brother Blue, trotted over to check things out. A quick sniff here and under there followed by a rather rude exit seemed to confirm McLuvin's disinterest. Myla, not taking well to rejection, promptly flipped puppy Blue onto his back and sat on him, 69-style, growling. In case you weren't sure, this is a dominance thing. Dogs do it and people freak out. I pulled Myla off Blue, who 2 minutes later, was sniffing her butt and trotting alongside her.

Lesson learned: it doesn't matter what name you call yourself or what you do. If you walk around with a banana in your pocket, you're sure to have monkeys (or males??) running circles around you.

Dog Humiliated...from the Onion

hilarious!

http://www.theonion.com/content/news/dog_humiliated_in_front_of_entire?utm_source=a-section

(thanks for sending this Tom!)

Hurricane Defeats Heatstroke

When they talk about all the pets that died in Hurricane Katrina, I wonder how many of those passed on not in the brunt of the storm but in the hellish doldrums before? When I googled "heat," "dogs," and "diarrhea" earlier this week, I was somewhat surprised to retrieve dozens of articles on doggie heatstroke. It turns out that this hot, humid hell we've been inhabiting for the last week and a half is as dangerous for short-nosed dogs as for old people. The op-eds told me that the situation required immediate attention. The 4 plastic bags I was carrying on each walk to clean up Myla's unsolidified sidewalk samples spoke much louder.

[Picture: All sorts of heat-related explosions: Myla drinks from a fire-hydrant-turned-fountain on our block]

At first I blamed the pork chop. Myla and I shared this most amazing urban moment in Prospect Park as I let the dog off leash to fetch the ball. We were simultaneously distracted: I by a huge Peregrine falcon landing on the branch above my head; Myla by the delicious remnants of a BBQ. It took me 15 minutes to get her back on lead (the precise amount of time it took to gnaw her bone into nothingness). She walked home, between bathroom breaks, with a swagger. But after 2 days of 90 degree weather, even with ice packs and fans applied as close as possible, the shit truly hit the fan. Unable to cool herself off at 2 in the morning, the poor girl lost control and exploded all over our carpet.

After a visit to our neighborhood vet, the installation of an AC unit, and a couple crazy thunderstorms courtesy of Hurricane Oscar, I'm happy to report that we are no longer "hotter than shit." My 2 am walks to weather Myla's movements have come to a close, replaced by a lovely midnight stroll before bed. An enthusiastic thumbs up to Resolve carpet cleaner, as well, without which our world would not be the same.

Knock Out: Boxer gives woman a black eye

Sunday, August 17, 2:48 am, Union street

There's nothing like waking up for Sunday Brunch with a black eye. The only thing better is telling people that you got it from your dog, the Boxer, whose face you fell into at 3 o'clock in the morning.

See, everyone's heard that people in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. And everyone (trust me, I've heard them all) tells you that people in small New York City apartments shouldn't own big dogs. But the reasons they cite (exercise, busy schedules, excessive summer heat) usually preclude your dog suddenly becoming a hazardous object.

Having moved close to a giant park, invested in an oval-oscillating fan (not just side-to-side, but up-and-down), and added ice cubes to Myla's water bowl, I've so far managed to maintain Big-Dog-Big-City Harmony. The problem has come with the position of the animal's large, sprawled body relative to this particular woman's slightly-unsteady, heel-clad feet. When you collide, which is inevitable, there's nowhere to fall but into an exposed-brick wall or onto them (perhaps being so lucky as to smash your eyebrow straight into their knuckle head).