This was the first Monday morning in a while where I woke up and didn’t have that Bachelor lining at the end of the day to look forward to. Not sure Dancing With the Stars will fill the void, but I’ll give it a try. Instead, from under the covers, I checked the weather and noticed we’re expecting another round of snow and freezing rain tonight. Unable to change out of my bright pink, warm, fleece pajamas, I stumbled into the living room to grab all of Wally’s stuff to walk him – his coat, my coat, his leash, my Ugg boots, hat, gloves, etc. When I approached Wally’s crate and unlatched the door, he just laid there, looking at me with those puppy eyes, which were saying, “Why the hell are you up this early and don’t you know it’s too cold to go outside right now?”
I couldn’t agree more. He normally pounces out of that crate, but not today – it was not happening. So after trying to coax him out a few more times, his eyes started closing. I shut the door to the crate and hit the bathroom to shower. Clothes off, standing in my bathroom naked, The Husband starts hollering that Wally is whining – he wants to go out. Is this a joke? No, so I grab the discarded pink pajamas on the floor, throw them back on, grab my winter coat, hat, gloves, Uggs, etc. and take Wally out. I got a few strange looks from pedestrians – that’s how cruel the Upper East Side can be. Anyone wearing pink fleece pajamas pants is clearly an insane person - even if it’s 7:30 AM and you’re walking a dog.
When I got back inside, I was finally awake enough to question why The Husband couldn’t have taken him out. He was obviously awake enough to notice Wally’s whining, but oh well. Then The Husband says, “You know, you could have just dropped him off at daycare…maybe you can take him there on your way to work.” He is great at making these sorts of suggestions. So back to the bathroom, I go. I’m showered, hair dryer is going, dressed for work and make-up on. Wally is jumping up on my leg. He knows I’m getting ready to leave the apartment and he’s going nuts.
I finish up and start packing up my things for work: a laptop with my work papers, a heavy purse, a huge shopping bag filled with 2 pairs of shoes I hope to return on my lunch break, a bag of old doggie clothing that Wally grew out of that we are donating to his doggie daycare and oh yeah – the dog himself. So off we go to walk the 1.5 blocks to the daycare place. As soon as I crossed the street, I ran into about 300 junior high school kids who attend the school across from our building. There are green bagels everywhere on the sidewalk, which I assume were discarded from drunk St. Patrick’s Day participants from the day before. Wally is darting for every single green bagel in sight and I’m holding him back while carrying my 400 bags. The excitement must have gotten to him because he starts circling and I know where this is headed. He squats and starts pooping in the midst of all these junior high kids. They start pointing at him and going, “That dog is SHITTING!” followed by their gangster, hysterical laughter. Others are going, “Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww!” at Wally’s poop while I start fumbling to get the poopy bag out of its holder. It’s stuck. I can’t budge it. I end up having to take the roll of bags out of the holder and manually pull one out. Then I have the bag but can’t figure out which end is the “opening” and this takes another few seconds during which the junior high school kids are ruthless saying all sorts of crazy things about Wally’s poop. You’d think they’d never seen a dog before or a dog that poops. I thought about taking the poop bag and hurling it at them or just taunting them with it to shut them up.
Poop discarded, bags reassembled on my body, we finished the walk down the block, manveuring around the hysterical kids, who I ignore. We arrived at the daycare center, which has 3 wire gates on a bunch of stairs to get through before you can actually get inside. Wally is pulling, my laptop gets stuck in a gate and I almost took the whole thing down. Finally, finally, FINALLLY we are inside. I hand over Wally and the bag of dog clothes. I’m dripping sweat at this point. Dressed for Antarctica. That’s when I realized that I left my subway card at home. Digging through my purse to find my phone, I call The Husband. When he answers, I start screaming about what just happened with Wally pooping, me getting bullied by junior high kids, carrying all these bags and sweating and the stupid doggy daycare gates and then just start laughing. I ask if he can bring my subway card downstairs in the lobby of our building and he tells me he’s in the bathroom.
I go home, get the card and recap the previous 7 minutes for The Husband. Next time, he’s on doggie duty. It’s already been a long Monday. Can I go home yet?