It’s been almost a year since I sold my house on Long Island and moved into Manhattan. Besides rescuing my Morkie, Tony Baloney, about eight years ago, it was the best decision I’ve made since my husband passed in 2006.
Everything is new and bright and clean ~ that’s inside my apartment. Outside is hectic, noisy and gritty. What’s not to love?
Tony had a little bit of an adjustment period. Okay…it’s ongoing. I don’t take him for walks. I take him for pulls. The concept of lifting his leg on concrete is usually met with, “Mom, you may not have noticed, but I already did it on the rug. Where’s my treat?”
In the chilling frost of last winter I happily discovered a three foot rectangular patch of ‘sort of grass’ surrounded by a twelve-inch high wrought iron fence. A park! And, right around the corner from our building! I placed Tony inside this area and bingo ~ we were both relieved!
Before you could say, “Good boy, let me scoop that up” I was harshly reprimanded by a lovely gentleman wearing a snorkel, Dick Tracy like trench coat, shorts (or no pants – hard to say) and one red sock and one yellow sock.
It was unclear what he held in his hand until he put the bullhorn to his mouth to yell, “ATTENTION STUPID LADY! THAT FENCE IS TO KEEP DOGS OUT!”
‘Oh’ I thought. That actually makes sense. Maybe I am a stupid lady…Still, I was smart enough to grab Tony, tuck him under my arm and walk quickly away before he sniffed this guys red sock and used his crazy bony leg as a fire hydrant.