The days of boys and pooches

It's spring FINALLY here in the mid-Atlantic, so I've been frolicking with my neighbors in and around the area. Spent last night on the waterfront in Baltimore, which is really The City On the Make right now -- more construction that you can shake a Hon at.

One thing I noticed as my pal T. and I were lounging at some yuppy bar with our Sierra Nevadas and crab dip: there are a lot of boys and dogs in that town. And damn do they get attention! One nice looking former beach bum came sauntering along the River Walk (wearing an unfortunate straw hat, but still) with his terrier mix. He had this dog trained, I think, to introduce him to women. The dog skipped over several tables of mixed groups and sat next to a two top of women, who promptly made MUCH of her. And him!

T. and I laughed at this, but later that evening when I went back to T's neighborhood, I found myself being worked over by dogs. Saw my other friend T. in the park (he's T1's delicious houseboy, I mean, housemate) with his Huskie, and before I knew it I was zeroed in on playing with her! No effort required; I really basically ignored the owner. Back at T1's house -- she has a bear-sized dog who owns my soul -- I was barely in the door when The Bear basically takes me down and sits his enormous ass on me and waits for his rubdown. I really wonder about ESP or something with this dog; I find myself doing things and fetching things for him without thinking about it. He's got that stare -- "I oooooown you. You will waaaaaalk me. Rub my buuuuutttt."

As I walked back to my car, disshevled and covered in the hair of at least two dogs, I felt a little used. It was a bit like a Walk of Shame -- trying to straighten myself out as I headed for the cover of my car and my home. It's not the boys who are working the women on the boardwalk; it's the pups.