Every night at work (I work as a doorman on the UWS in case you don’t know) I watch the parade of dogs marching through the lobby on their way to do their “business” one last time before bedtime.
There is never any particular order, most people walk their dogs at the same time or close to it, but often they have gone out, or worked late, or just plain didn’t feel like walking the dog, so the order varies on any given night. What never varies is that they all gotta go.
Last night it was my boss first, very early, seven or so; with his mostly Jack Russell mutt who pulls and strains at the leash like some bloodhound hot on the scent- except he’s not a bloodhound and there is no scent. He always breathes heavily; I call him “The obscene phone caller” on account of all the huffing and wheezing he does. He also lunges and barks at any dog that gets within striking distance. My boss calls him Tony. Who names a dog Tony?
My last boss, a big Dominican guy with slicked back black hair and a big mustache, had a Chihuahua he called Spikey- now that’s a dog name- but I chose to call him Sparky (another good dog name), and they looked so comical, the big guy and his little dog walking down 86th street.
Then came the Portuguese water dog Coco- a very friendly and demure (if a dog can be demure this one is) that likes me so much she’s always trying to bury her nose in my crotch. Or maybe she just likes the smell.
Then came the blind black cockapoo with his super control freak lawyer of an owner. A woman in her 50’s of remarkable heft, she directs the dog’s every move in a voice you use for the feebleminded.
“Walk here, walk there, get on the elevator, that’s none of your business…” She gives me the shivers.
Last night, because it was so hot, she actually asked me if I wanted an “ice cold drink of water”, but I demurred (I like that word) thanking her profusely, the last thing I wanted was for her to return to the lobby.
After the cockapoo came the Blue Kerry from the second floor, a dog trained to be a “therapy dog”; her owner is a LCSW after all, and a very good trainer indeed. This dog can march to cadence.
On the opposite end of the spectrum is the black female poodle belonging to the sort of famous writer, a big guy with white hair who looks like he’s entering in an Ernest Hemmingway look-alike contest, an “unkempt” man (another tenant’s word, not mine) form one of the upper floors. This dog will lunge at anyone close enough to be lunged at, doesn’t bite; just tries to climb all over you. Not pleasant at all trying to pry this dog off.
The writer; who by the way never talks to the help unless he wants something or has a complaint; recently added another dog to his stable, a small white one of undetermined breed that looks like a cross between a poodle and a dachshund.
I can’t even tell if it’s a male or female since it’s legs are so short and I’m not going to bend down to look underneath. It looks like a white hairy caterpillar. He looks like he’s walking Mutt and Jeff down the block when they are all together.
The last to come down is usually Alvin, a longhaired dachshund also from the second floor, who is afraid of crossing the gap between the elevator doors and always has to be dragged across. If I don’t see Alvin I know it’s because he’s already gone upstairs. I know this because I saw him do it once when I was the handyman and doing work in their apartment.
So the parade was over until the morning shift, that is unless some doggie gets sick in the night.
Poop B 4 U go 2 bed.