I live in an apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. After my husband passed, two good friends of mine offered to move in with me. I said yes almost immediately. It felt right. Not only was I lonely, but they were some of my closest friends. When I had a mastectomy they tried to smuggle beer into me at the hospital and got caught, but still amanaged to bring it into my room! Now that’s friendship!
So they moved in with me and my two small dogs. Luckily they were dog people. They loved my dogs but thought I could be doing a better job as a dog owner. They were right but I was a little stubborn about making a change. The first thing I had to change were my sleeping habits. Apparently sleeping til 9 or 10am is unacceptable in the dog owning world. I also overfed them. (I’m Jewish, what do you expect?) And of course they helped my avoid being arrested but reminding me to pick up dog poop in the street.
So I managed to do all of that and then they dropped the bomb. I had to take my dogs to a dog training class. I thought my dogs were trained already, but it turns out letting two chihuahua’s drag you down the street isn’t you training them. It’s THEM training YOU! Ok fine. I joined the class.
A dog class in Manhattan is a like shopping in Bergdorf’s. High end people, high end dogs, a dog whisperer/psychologist and then there was me. A shleepy older womean who couldn’t find her hairbrush this morning.
So now Im in my 4th month of this class and my dogs can cook, clean and give me foot massages. It’s really quite remarkable. My roommates are thrilled. Oh! And did I mention they renovated my apartment. Not the dogs. My roommates. So they can stay forever.
I’ll bring the beer!