Rex and the City A Woman, a Man, and a Dysfunctional Dog

New York is the only place I've ever truly felt at home. (Probably because everyone in New York is insane). Plus it looked like my dog was starting to feel at home here, too. And why not? Life here wasn't always cruel. In fact, as we were all slowly discovering, there were dozens of advantages to canine living in New York City. A city dog is never chained to a doghouse in a backyard, left to ponder his bleak existence, left to brave the elements and to spend long, cold nights alone, while the folks inside the bright warm house crack open Bud Lights and watch reality TV. A city dog does not have to brave the elements, thank you very much, because a city dog (at least on the Upper East Side) wears clothes. From Barney's no less. And as for being chained to a doghouse, please. A New York City dog is too busy having his coat deep-conditioned and his toenails pedicured at the Pampered Pooch Pet Spa; or going for a quick dip in the temperature controlled pool at the country's only dog athletic facility called City of Dogs; or window-shopping on Madison Avenue (where dogs are welcome in all the chicest stores, but people in jeans are not), after which he can enjoy a bowl of warm beef consomme at the Regency while a waiter in white gloves fills his silver water dish with Evian. And besides, don't you know dog chains are out? So yes, a city dog could lead an exciting life. In fact, the more time I spent with Rex in the city, the more I realized that most of the suburban dogs I knew (I shall not name names), most of those Labs and Goldens certain acquaintances of mine got "for the kid," seemed comparatively bored. With their cute puppyhoods long forgotten, these dogs were left to languish at home alone for hours, while the kids and parents went off to work and school. Twice a day, at most, they were walked on leash along a bland suburban block, past ranch houses for God's sake, with nary a drag queen or a Tasti D-Lite in sight, by some harried parent whose mind was on dinner. And not even the dog's mind was on dinner anymore, because he had been eating the same processed dried kibble for thirty years. Oh, the horror, the horror. I thought of all this whenever anyone said to us: You have a hunting dog in the city? Or whenever my father delivered his weekly Consensus from Garrison Drive. I thought of this when Rex dined on premium organic dog food, or the free-range organic buffalo jerky treats that cost more than a pair of new shoes. They say New York is the City of Gods. It is also the City of Dogs. There are something like one and a half million dogs in New York City. There were dogs at the Greenmarket, dogs riding elevators, dogs catching Frisbees in the park. You could spot them resting peacefully under cafe tables, or waiting for taxicabs, or sniffing the base of the cosmetics counters at Bloomingdale's while the humans above dabbed their wrists. They were everywhere in New York City; I just really hadn't noticed them all before. But, in the same way you notice all the people wearing glasses once you need them yourself, or notice people's wedding bands when you yourself are married, I suddenly had a new radar for dogs: dog-dar. And all of the other dogs were better behaved than Rex. Overnight, we became dog people. It was as if our new truce brought us up a notch, into the strange world of other dog people. Suddenly our neighborsthe very same people who might have hipchecked us out of the line at Bryant Park Cafewanted to know us. They asked us our names. They wanted to know all about Rex. All at once, all these dogs and their people started gravitating toward us, to say hello on the sidewalks, to share raising-a-dog stories, to give advice. They'd address Rex first, of course, saying, "Who's thiHarrington, Lee is the author of 'Rex and the City A Woman, a Man, and a Dysfunctional Dog', published 2006 under ISBN 9781400063017 and ISBN 1400063019.