Yesterday Ari and I decided to take Jack, our resident nut case of a puppy to the dog run so he could release some energy and maybe make us look like Good Dog Parents.
Upon hearing the idea, Jack showed interest.
This meant that he stopped biting my leg long enough to look up at me.
I thought that was nice of him.
So off we all went, onward to a dog run that is about three miles away from our apartment. I wasn’t sure I could make it, seeing as my usual Sundays consist of Sitting Down and Watching Sports While Nursing A Hangover, but I thought it was worth a shot.
Being a city dog, Jack has developed the odd behavior of every time that he sees a patch of grass, he immediately throws himself down and rolls around.
I think he does this to remind Ari and I that despite the fact that he loves eating discarded chicken bones off the concrete sidewalks of Brooklyn, he’d much rather roll in the grass of Country Town USA.
Once Jack was done making us feel guilty for living where we do, we continued on.
We walked past the Brooklyn Promenade, with its great views of the city and the Brooklyn Bridge.
Ari and I love Brooklyn Heights, where the Promenade is located.
We always gaze longingly at the nice brownstones and imagine that if we had just four million more dollars, we’d live there too.
Then we stop because the people who do actually live there see us staring and think that we are Crazy Poor People.
The dog run is about four blocks from the Promenade, so we were there in a few minutes.
Now you’re asking yourself, “Well Chris, where are the pictures of Jack at the dog run?”
There are none.
This is because I lost track of time and forgot. Also, there was a crazy woman yelling at me about Jack and I, being a Mature Adult, was yelling back.
Ari loves it when I do this.
After the incident and on our way home, she yelled at me about my behavior.
She explained to me that even though the woman was wrong and was being insane, it is never okay for me to say to someone who qualifies for retirement, “Dude! Shut up!”
Jack was okay with everything that happened though.
He’s a bit of a bastard, and I guess so am I. Poor Ari is surrounded by bastards.
When we finally got back to the apartment, Jack decided that it was nap time.
It was a good day, so I rubbed his belly, thanked him for being immature with me, and nodded off shortly after him.