Thursday, December 12, 2013

Santa Paws is Comin' to Town

I think when you adopt a puppy you're signing some sort of cosmic contract that says, "I, the undersigned, agree to never pee alone again."

And then you're held to that contract every moment of every day.  Close the door to the bathroom before he can get in?  No worries, he'll just cry, moan and scratch at the door until you give in to his pleas.  Then again, with a face as cute and fluffy as Bear's, it's really hard to ever say no.

It's also really hard to want to be away from the little guy.

We brought Bear up to New York with us this past weekend (we tagged along with Blake's parents who were up there for the law firm Christmas party).  He was, as usual, a fuzzy celebrity everywhere we went.  He's such a diva.

He got his own seat in the car between Blake's parents and loved every second of the ride - alternately putting his head on Brent and Marilyn's laps for snuggles.  He got to sneak up on the bed at the hotel (hey, I'm not the one washing those sheets, ok?).  He walked around SoHo with the knowing gait of an uptown pup, allowing himself to be snuggled and photographed by all sorts of admirers.

He was, however, particularly sad when we didn't let him eat any Tacos from La Esquina (our favorite place for Tacos), even though I tried to tell him it was for his own good.

After a fruitless 10-block search for a potty spot around our Hotel in midtown, we decided that NYC is just not a dog-friendly place.  Where are all the dogs doing their business? On the streets?  That thought makes me want to take another shower today.

Bear has been trained not to wee on the cement, so he held it for ages while we located a suitable dirt patch.  What a champ.  For only five months old he did pretty well in the big city.

New York, we love you, but we're sure glad to be home.

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