Woody
02-15-2005, 01:32 PM
TRENDY GIRL
Let me start this little anecdote by assuring you that I am a trendy girl. I have always been a rabid fan of pop culture. If it's "in", I've got it, I wear it, I drink it, eat it, drive it or listen to it. If it's featured in the pages of "In Style" magazine or worn on Sex and the City, it is already in my closet or is currently being Fed-Ex'd to me by Amazon.com. I don't want to miss out on anything and be declared as out of date as shoulder pads and robin egg blue eyeshadow. A few years ago, it was trés populaire to own a Weimaraner, those pasty coloured, seal-like dogs who seem to fancy wearing womens' clothing. Today, it is in style to own a Labrador Retriever, preferably a chocolate one because of its uncanny resemblance to mink.
Having established this then, it is with great pride and, surprisingly not with great embarrassment, that I confess to the following truth: I take Newman to doggy daycare. That's right…I am the quintessential chick of the new millennium. I'm busy, dammit, and I require a complete stranger to rear my "child" so that he will become emotionally attached to someone else and blame me later in life for his identity crisis. "I could have been somebody, somebody BIG like Lassie, but noooooooo, the glass ceiling was all you cared about and now I'm just a nobody like that stupid Dog de Bordeaux from Turner and Hooch". How can I possibly consider myself a successful career woman if my offspring don't resent me?
Oh sure, people scoff at the likes of me…."dogs" are not the same as having "kids". Oh, really? That's like saying sex is not the same as eating Bernard Callebaut chocolate truffles. The experience is IDENTICAL. A typical conversation at my doggy daycare goes something like this:
"Good morning, Dee! How's Newman today?"
"Well, he's a little sluggish actually. I'm worried that he may be running a fever. His nose is running and his eyes are watery."
"Ohhhh, poor baby. Did you take him to the doctor?"
"Yes I did. Dr. Carter was busy delivering octuplets, but he did manage to give me a prescription. Can you make sure Newman takes these tablets every four hours with some orange juice?"
"Of course. Do we need to watch his bowel movements? Are they a little runny like Dijon mustard?"
"No, we've had solid stool now for about three days. But could you take his temperature later on? He may whimper a little bit, but he's very good at calming himself."
"Will do. Anything else?"
"Yes. Here's his blankey, his favourite toy, some stringy cheese sticks, I packed his lunch in this collapsible bowl and here's a hot water bottle in case he gets a chill. See you at 5:00 after my yoga class and botox injections."
Swear to god, my brother had this same conversation at his pediatrician's office last week about my nephew.
I was at a dinner party recently and six intelligent, career-minded intellectuals sat around for five hours debating the merits of balanced meals, home-schooling versus professional educators; temperment, bullying at school, attitude adjustments, remedies for teething, growth spurts, knitting home-made sweaters for the winter, grooming techniques and the teenage years of rebelling against authority. We also discussed the Better Business Bureau's safety ratings for the pools we all had recently installed in our backyards. Respectively, we were talking about a lab, a rottweiler, a golden retriever, a german shepherd and a shiba-inu/husky cross who was the unfortunate result of a drunken incident at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in New York.
In any event, do yourself a favour and become one of the "chic" in crowd by depositing your pup at the nearest Yuppy Puppy Daycare and Holistic Wellness Centre. Arrange for the "mongrel massage", a French pawdicure or a session with the canine psychologist to ascertain just why Binkles will not stop hiding his Nylabones in the dryer. You won't regret it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I see from my Palm Pilot Notepad that I need to call my party planner on my hands-free Verizon cell phone to say that I'm running a little late in my Beemer because I had to stop at Starbucks for a grande, low fat, skim milk, no sugar, extra foam, double double Frappucinno with whip cream and chocolate shavings. Oh, and I have to stop at the daycare because Newman forgot his backpack and his Eddie Bauer Paw Protector Booties.
Trendy Owner of a Chocolate Lab, Dee
Let me start this little anecdote by assuring you that I am a trendy girl. I have always been a rabid fan of pop culture. If it's "in", I've got it, I wear it, I drink it, eat it, drive it or listen to it. If it's featured in the pages of "In Style" magazine or worn on Sex and the City, it is already in my closet or is currently being Fed-Ex'd to me by Amazon.com. I don't want to miss out on anything and be declared as out of date as shoulder pads and robin egg blue eyeshadow. A few years ago, it was trés populaire to own a Weimaraner, those pasty coloured, seal-like dogs who seem to fancy wearing womens' clothing. Today, it is in style to own a Labrador Retriever, preferably a chocolate one because of its uncanny resemblance to mink.
Having established this then, it is with great pride and, surprisingly not with great embarrassment, that I confess to the following truth: I take Newman to doggy daycare. That's right…I am the quintessential chick of the new millennium. I'm busy, dammit, and I require a complete stranger to rear my "child" so that he will become emotionally attached to someone else and blame me later in life for his identity crisis. "I could have been somebody, somebody BIG like Lassie, but noooooooo, the glass ceiling was all you cared about and now I'm just a nobody like that stupid Dog de Bordeaux from Turner and Hooch". How can I possibly consider myself a successful career woman if my offspring don't resent me?
Oh sure, people scoff at the likes of me…."dogs" are not the same as having "kids". Oh, really? That's like saying sex is not the same as eating Bernard Callebaut chocolate truffles. The experience is IDENTICAL. A typical conversation at my doggy daycare goes something like this:
"Good morning, Dee! How's Newman today?"
"Well, he's a little sluggish actually. I'm worried that he may be running a fever. His nose is running and his eyes are watery."
"Ohhhh, poor baby. Did you take him to the doctor?"
"Yes I did. Dr. Carter was busy delivering octuplets, but he did manage to give me a prescription. Can you make sure Newman takes these tablets every four hours with some orange juice?"
"Of course. Do we need to watch his bowel movements? Are they a little runny like Dijon mustard?"
"No, we've had solid stool now for about three days. But could you take his temperature later on? He may whimper a little bit, but he's very good at calming himself."
"Will do. Anything else?"
"Yes. Here's his blankey, his favourite toy, some stringy cheese sticks, I packed his lunch in this collapsible bowl and here's a hot water bottle in case he gets a chill. See you at 5:00 after my yoga class and botox injections."
Swear to god, my brother had this same conversation at his pediatrician's office last week about my nephew.
I was at a dinner party recently and six intelligent, career-minded intellectuals sat around for five hours debating the merits of balanced meals, home-schooling versus professional educators; temperment, bullying at school, attitude adjustments, remedies for teething, growth spurts, knitting home-made sweaters for the winter, grooming techniques and the teenage years of rebelling against authority. We also discussed the Better Business Bureau's safety ratings for the pools we all had recently installed in our backyards. Respectively, we were talking about a lab, a rottweiler, a golden retriever, a german shepherd and a shiba-inu/husky cross who was the unfortunate result of a drunken incident at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show in New York.
In any event, do yourself a favour and become one of the "chic" in crowd by depositing your pup at the nearest Yuppy Puppy Daycare and Holistic Wellness Centre. Arrange for the "mongrel massage", a French pawdicure or a session with the canine psychologist to ascertain just why Binkles will not stop hiding his Nylabones in the dryer. You won't regret it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I see from my Palm Pilot Notepad that I need to call my party planner on my hands-free Verizon cell phone to say that I'm running a little late in my Beemer because I had to stop at Starbucks for a grande, low fat, skim milk, no sugar, extra foam, double double Frappucinno with whip cream and chocolate shavings. Oh, and I have to stop at the daycare because Newman forgot his backpack and his Eddie Bauer Paw Protector Booties.
Trendy Owner of a Chocolate Lab, Dee