So I woke up today, about 10ish, rolled over and found myself staring into my panting, patiently waiting beagle's big brown eyes. She wanted to go outside, badly, and was counting the moments until I awoke.
About 1.3 seconds after we made eye contact, she pounced on me, smothering me with kisses and head-butting me with the top of her skull. I'm pretty sure this is what she does when she is afraid I'm going back to sleep.
So I rise, put on last night's shirt and Thursday's pants -- which together form a wonderful ensemble with this morning's bedhead -- grab her leash and off we go.
From the moment we left the door, we had a great 15 minute excursion that still has me smiling.
I pass one of my neighbors at the elevator as she's dragging out some super stinky trash. We trade greetings and a couple jokes, then down the stairs and over to the dogder's pooping place. As she squats I realize I forgot a plastic bag to pick it up with. Just then, some empty newspaper wrapper floats in front of me and gets caught on her leash. Serendipity, right?
She finishes, I take one for the community and pick it up with the newspaper bag, then on to her peeing place. About that time I start thinking about what I need to do today, and what I want to do today, and the likelihood that any of the former is going to get done (which should really, really happen) before I blow it off in search of the latter.
I decide, regardless of what goes down, I need breakfast, so I stroll over to Talkie's, passing a few folks from the neighborhood that I don't know (but the types you see semi-often enough to begin recognizing). We trade man-nods and casual smiles, and into the cafe I go. The outside entrance of the cafe, along with the little park adjacent is filled with folks and pups, a reflection of the awesome weather as much as the fact it is a market Saturday. Lots of anonymous chit-chat and compliments about the cuteness of everyone's dog. Insincere, to be sure, but not as obnoxious as what you have to endure when you go to the dog park and realize the person next to you has an identity fundamentally inseparable from his/her canine.
Into Talkies, through a throng of young ladies that coo at Smelly Ellie's cuteness, then to the counter, where the barrista knows what I want (small coffee to go with room for cream). I mix things up a bit, order an apple fritter, too, and talk about the weather, the blues, and dog names with the owner. As I'm putting in my cream, the counter girl is plying my dog with treats.
We walk back, see a cop actually doing something (lambasting some apparently drunk guy for being unsafe around children), bump into my landlord and have a conversation about watching the Cubs play at the Jake two years ago and the recent brouhaha about the Red Sox fan/construction worker that buried a Red Sox jersey in the foundation of the currently being built new Yankee Stadium. The conversation itself was nice, but even better was the fact that it wasn't about me being a bad tenant (or, more accurately, my anxiety-scarred dog being a bad tenant). That's always a good thing.
Back upstairs to the apartment and a living room bathed with natural light. Now I'm at the desk, drinking my coffee, getting ready to earn my paycheck.
For a few hours, anyway. I have dinner plans @ 5:30, before heading out to the awesomeness that will be Waterloo Road this evening.
3 years ago