The Dog Spotter Goes to Lubbock, Texas

    

Thanksgiving Day took us out of New York and down  to Texas to visit the parents.   Open skies, old pick up trucks, and this massive dog!  Yes the rumor is correct, everything truly is bigger in Texas.

Brooklyn Flea Market

Beware the Curse of the Ghost Dog

 

The Lenape believe the cluster of stars we call the Milky Way are the souls of the dead on their journey to heaven.  Before one reaches the happy hunting ground of heaven one must first cross a bridge.  This bridge is guarded by dogs who let no man pass who in his lifetime ever mistreated a dog.  As a dog lover this legend brings me comfort.  But since I am not a Lenape, I have decided to give this legend a twist, and so my fellow readers: BEWARE THE CURSE OF THE GHOST DOG! 

  What is the curse of the ghost dog? Well, since a dog's life primarily revolves around food, the ghost dog will guard the food of our hapless victim by not only robbing the food of all taste, but by also robbing the food of all nutritional value leaving our cruel mistreater of dogs to a harrowing fate.  Muhah ha ha!! And just in case you are wondering, yes this photo is of an actual ghost dog in action at the Coffee Shop Cafe in Union Square, Manhattan.

Sahadis

This morning I spotted this Havanese from my window.  Even though I'm not a particular fan of this breed, I must admit a certain sadness swept over me as I  watched him, alone on the sidewalk, shadows from scaffolding supports forming a cage about him while just above his head a snowman stands ready to keep him company were it not for the glass separating one from the other.  Ok, enough sentimentality for one day.

Atlantic Antic

What better way to spend an afternoon, drinking beer, eating sausages, perusing all the vendors and of course spotting lots of dogs!

East 16th Street

Union Square October

Outside The Bossert on Montague Street, Brooklyn

I just finished a late afternoon lunch with my wife at a cafe on Montague Street when we came upon this unique dog outside the Bossert. I welcome all thoughts on the possible mix.

Infront of Traders Court Street and Atlantic Ave

Having a dog really is better than having a child. Take this golden retriever for example. Tie him up to a rack between two bikes on what has become one of the busiest corners in Brooklyn, then shop at Trader Joe's for 45 minutes. This dog will be content and happy the entire time. Amazing. Now take a small child and repeat the experiment. Not so amazing. Though it would be quite a site if a law was passed mandating not only that parents are now prohibited from taking small children into bars, restaruants, and stores, but must tie them up to bike racks, scaffolding supports or parking meters. The sidewalks would be transformed into the 5th circle of hell in a matter of seconds.

Personally, I would rather see more dogs in bars than babies. I will never understand the impulse to bring a two year old into a place specifically designed to get a human so drunk that they shit themselves. By the ninth shot of Wild Turkey when the tears begin streaming down one's face at the realization that one's childhood dream never involved working for Goldman Sachs and earning an obscene amount of money, but centered on being a Spaceman fighting the dark forces of Krog, who are you going to turn to? The little brat your jackass of a friend has strapped to his chest, or the pit bull sitting next to the burned out carni at the other end of the bar?

Union Square

I never met a dog that disconcerted me until now. I was observing the scene on the west side of the square, when this Jack Russell turned around and kept looking at me. He just would not stop looking at me. I hoped that by taking his photo he would leave me alone, but it only made him more interested. Thankfully, I was able to quickly escape down a nearby subway entrance.

Brooklyn Pier

Waiting for the ferry to Governor's Island at the Brooklyn Pier. In the background a concerto was playing, wedding photos were being taken, and these dogs were just enjoying being dogs.

Bandit

My first dog was not a golden retriever. My parents thought it best to introduce their children to the harsh realities of life at an early age. So at the tender age of three, we welcomed Bandit into the family. Bandit was what I call a "runner." She exploited any chance to escape the house, backyard or leash with dazzling alacrity. Usually around the three hour mark during an escape, Bandit would get hungry and start sniffing around a dumpster at some not to distant gas station. The station attendant would then call the number on her tag, let us know our run away was safe, and we all would pile into Mom's tan, Chevy Nova, and retrieve her.

The only people Bandit would never run from were black people. She absolutely loved black people and would never fail to show a black person her affection. The Parsons were the only black family on our street, and lived across from us. Whenever they pulled up to their driveway, and Bandit was in the backyard, she would bound around the corner of the house, dodge swiftly past the gate under a barrage of curses from my father-who never seemed to get the gate closed in time- and greet the Parsons as if Mr. Parson were Nelson Mandela just released from prison.  If only I was black, maybe she would have loved me more.

My most vivid memory of Bandit is also my most painful memory of her. It was a Saturday morning, winter, frost on the windows, I found Bandit in our basement. Strewn across the concrete floor were shreds of blue fabric, white cotton, specks of red. In the midst of the mess was Bandit with the remnants of my most prized possession: my Spiderman slippers. How could any dog betray the unconditional love of a little boy, in such an act of total destruction? My small world was turned upside down, I fell into the deep rage that only children know and with tears streaming down my face struck this dog with all the force a three year old could muster screaming, "I don't love you anymore Bandit, I don't love you anymore!"

I don't remember what finally happened to Bandit. I think she kept running away, until one day my parents had enough and took her back to the pound. In all the years that have passed between now and then, I still am saddened by those fateful words I spoke to my first dog.

Onderdonk House on Brooklyn/Queens Border

Near the Brooklyn/Queens waterfront, in the midst of an industrial wasteland of junkyards, warehouses, and auto body shops, there lies preserved in time, the Onderdonk house, and standing guard at the door this old dog.

When I first walked past him his head slowly rose, he mustered a bark or two, and then exhausted from the exertion, and his duty having been done, lowered it down onto his paws and went back to sleep.

Labor Day Morning Court Street and Amity

I was sitting on a bench outside the Book Court early this morning, when I saw this delicious French Bulldog waiting patiently outside the Starbucks for his owner. Moments later he walked past and snuffled on my leg.