Monday, May 26, 2008
I was back once again to Chicago. A friend that was out of town had an apartment there where Rob and I bartered a stay with dogsitting.
When we got there we discovered was a 110 lb, unneutered bull mastiff named Max. Instantly what we first thought was a boon (hotel rooms that weekend were extremely expensive) turned unto a fair trade. We were told he would be in his cage and would have to calm him down with some treats before touching him. When we walked in he’d broken out of his cage and was on the couch looking suspiciously at us. Great.
Max was all id. He cared about nothing more than eating, going for walks to mark territory, sex, and kicking other dogs’ asses. During the day, reining Max in required discipline, domination, doggie treats, and a choker collar with metal spikes and keeping him off your leg – all of which were detailed in the instructions.
But once the rapport was established, he was a joy. His mammalian traits came though and he was playful and affectionate. I found a rope to play tug-of-war with him. He threw me across the room. And in the evening he just wanted company while he slept. Max snored, farted, belched, sighed, and tossed in his sleep after he climbed into bed with me – it was like I had a boyfriend again. Despite this I fell in love with this dog. Again, it was like having a boyfriend.
The trick is never to take this for granted. I was walking down the street when two other dogs passed by and growled at him. He lunged toward them with his giant mouth, yanking me off balance while he attempted to kill them. I pulled on the choker with all my strength to bring him under control. “Sorry, he doesn’t like other dogs, I guess.” Thank god for the spiked, choker collar.
Other excitement included having lunch with my grandparents and aunt, taking them to buy flowers for their planters, and hanging out with Rob, opera friends, Jean, and college friends in the evenings. I was also able to see my brother and his partner.
As much as I love my family, it irritated me that they hadn’t taken my grandparents to do neglected things like put air in the car’s tires, wash the car, fix a leaky pipe, or stick around and talk to them. So I tended to all those matters. This all came to a head when we went out for a giant Chinese meal and my bother and his partner took ALL the left-overs (there were a ton). Grandma and Grandpa could have lived off that for a couple weeks and they didn’t even think about it when they casually took it. As I tried to casually say “grandma why don’t you take some of those?” I knew she would NEVER have said yes, but I was giving them the opportunity to insist on giving them to her. He never did.
Despite this, it was a nice weekend and seeing Val, taking care of the dog, hanging out with rob, drinking with old friends, connecting with people and teary, boozy nights talking about past loves, and family.
Sometimes you need that.
Max, built for strength and agression, trained for companionship, and exhausted after a walk / nearly eating three dogs. Apparently not quite built for cardio.
When we got there we discovered was a 110 lb, unneutered bull mastiff named Max. Instantly what we first thought was a boon (hotel rooms that weekend were extremely expensive) turned unto a fair trade. We were told he would be in his cage and would have to calm him down with some treats before touching him. When we walked in he’d broken out of his cage and was on the couch looking suspiciously at us. Great.
Max was all id. He cared about nothing more than eating, going for walks to mark territory, sex, and kicking other dogs’ asses. During the day, reining Max in required discipline, domination, doggie treats, and a choker collar with metal spikes and keeping him off your leg – all of which were detailed in the instructions.
But once the rapport was established, he was a joy. His mammalian traits came though and he was playful and affectionate. I found a rope to play tug-of-war with him. He threw me across the room. And in the evening he just wanted company while he slept. Max snored, farted, belched, sighed, and tossed in his sleep after he climbed into bed with me – it was like I had a boyfriend again. Despite this I fell in love with this dog. Again, it was like having a boyfriend.
The trick is never to take this for granted. I was walking down the street when two other dogs passed by and growled at him. He lunged toward them with his giant mouth, yanking me off balance while he attempted to kill them. I pulled on the choker with all my strength to bring him under control. “Sorry, he doesn’t like other dogs, I guess.” Thank god for the spiked, choker collar.
Other excitement included having lunch with my grandparents and aunt, taking them to buy flowers for their planters, and hanging out with Rob, opera friends, Jean, and college friends in the evenings. I was also able to see my brother and his partner.
As much as I love my family, it irritated me that they hadn’t taken my grandparents to do neglected things like put air in the car’s tires, wash the car, fix a leaky pipe, or stick around and talk to them. So I tended to all those matters. This all came to a head when we went out for a giant Chinese meal and my bother and his partner took ALL the left-overs (there were a ton). Grandma and Grandpa could have lived off that for a couple weeks and they didn’t even think about it when they casually took it. As I tried to casually say “grandma why don’t you take some of those?” I knew she would NEVER have said yes, but I was giving them the opportunity to insist on giving them to her. He never did.
Despite this, it was a nice weekend and seeing Val, taking care of the dog, hanging out with rob, drinking with old friends, connecting with people and teary, boozy nights talking about past loves, and family.
Sometimes you need that.
Max, built for strength and agression, trained for companionship, and exhausted after a walk / nearly eating three dogs. Apparently not quite built for cardio.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
take a ride on the peace train
If censuses were taken daily they would have found that on Sunday the gay population of a certain conservative neighborhood in Brooklyn - roughly speaking - quintupled (albeit to a staggering 20). No, it wasn’t because of a gay rally or Madonna concert; It wasn’t because there was some nude male art opening in the fashionable DUMBO or Brooklyn Heights neighborhoods. No. It was, in fact, way the hell out in machismo land by the Verrazano Bridge; it was in Bay Ridge; it was in my apartment. Oh yea! It was because yours truly through a killer party.
After weeks of agonizing over deciding the food to order, food to make, the types of booze to provide, the music (a la Bobby) and, most importantly, who to invite, there was a buzz about this party for some unknown reason. I was astounded. In some ways worlds collided. Straight friends, gay friends, work people, and even the family of guests came in from Jersey to Chelsea, to the Upper East Side and all the way from Westchester to attend. It could have been a disaster. But, thank GOD, everyone had a ball.
Those there for the group shot were, counterclockwise from the left, Matt (not me), Sonya, Bobby, Mary, Frank, Jerry, Rob, John, Nicole, Anthony, Frank (another), Chris, Michael, Chris (another), Joe, Linda, and Robert. Taking the photo is me. Sinfully late were Robert (yes, another ROBERT), and Max, the estranged ex.
It was my largest party. But perhaps my parties are like goldfish. . . the larger the bowl, the bigger they become. And with rents in Bay Ridge my fish bowl got a lot bigger.
After weeks of agonizing over deciding the food to order, food to make, the types of booze to provide, the music (a la Bobby) and, most importantly, who to invite, there was a buzz about this party for some unknown reason. I was astounded. In some ways worlds collided. Straight friends, gay friends, work people, and even the family of guests came in from Jersey to Chelsea, to the Upper East Side and all the way from Westchester to attend. It could have been a disaster. But, thank GOD, everyone had a ball.
Those there for the group shot were, counterclockwise from the left, Matt (not me), Sonya, Bobby, Mary, Frank, Jerry, Rob, John, Nicole, Anthony, Frank (another), Chris, Michael, Chris (another), Joe, Linda, and Robert. Taking the photo is me. Sinfully late were Robert (yes, another ROBERT), and Max, the estranged ex.
It was my largest party. But perhaps my parties are like goldfish. . . the larger the bowl, the bigger they become. And with rents in Bay Ridge my fish bowl got a lot bigger.
