You're probably not surprised that the first time I came to New York and stayed at the Hotel Wales on Madison and 92nd I was a bit pee shy. My dad walked me the block over to the park and we walked and we walked and we walked. But I just couldn't pee. Not with all those sounds and sirens and smells and distractions. I finally went the next day after I just couldn't hold it any longer. That's why I was so proud when, last week, Roxie put on the brakes and took a nice BIG POOP right on the sidewalk along Central Park. Life and it's simple pleasures.
We had just come from the dog park north of the Museum of Natural History. There were lots of New York dogs and we loved sniffing around with them. Some old man carrying the largest pooper scooper I have ever seen asked my dad how Angus can see with all that hair in his eyes and expressed his disapproval. My dad said "Mind your own business" under his breath and pretended to ignore the grumpy old man. We played on. The grumpy old man passed us again on his way out. Brandishing the largest pooper scooper any of us had ever seen he jeered " I am going to report you to the ASPCA if I see him here like that again." I could tell that my dad was pissed, but he maintained his composure as best he could and said "Angus is a Tibetan Terrier. His hair protects his eyes from the sun and the wind." The words came out like knives, small knives. Sensing a more worthy opponent than he probably anticipated, the old man lied and said, "I was only kidding." "No you weren't and it wasn't funny," my dad glared at him. We put Angus' hair up later when we returned to the hotel.
Not all New Yorkers are A-HOLES. On our way to the dog park, we crossed Central Park and and met Csopie. A seventeen-year-old Puli with her VERY NICE owner. I was told that Csopie means " little one" or something like that in Hungarian. She was the littlest one in her litter. As you can see, she has grown. Although I suspect a lot of that beautiful bulk is hair. Csopie kinda looks like me with dreadlocks. She is quite an enchanting pile. Csopie sat in her stroller like a queen on her throne. She's lost the use of her legs, but she still loves to come to the park. Quite a gal. Very alert and full of life. She got quite excited when I took some photos of her. I have heard that Pulis and Tibetan Terriers are related. I hope so.
Upon arriving in Manhatten, we stopped for a quick pizza at Motorino of 12th Street. Dad just ran in and picked up the pizza and ate it standing on the sidewalk. He loves that pizza. Roxie and Angus and I stayed in the car. The next day we went to Keste, another Nepoplitan pizza place, on Bleeker Street that the guy who owns Spacca Napoli, yet another Neopolitan pizza place, in Chicago recommended.
At Keste, we met yet another nice New Yorker. Well, transplanted New Yorker. Alessandro form Rimini, Italy. Alessandro manages Keste. He told us the guy that owns Spacca Napoli in Chicago trained with the chef/owner of Keste. Keste means "This is it!" in Napoli. The arugula salad and the pizza were scrumptious. We will be back. Alessandro's sweet face alone would bring me back. The guy sitting next to us was also Italian (real Italian) and he told us that the pizza at Keste and another place called Gnocco are the best in New York. We will try Gnocco next time.
You're probably not surprised that the first time I came to New York and stayed at the Hotel Wales on Madison and 92nd I was a bit pee shy. My dad walked me the block over to the park and we walked and we walked and we walked. But I just couldn't pee. Not with all those sounds and sirens and smells and distractions. I finally went the next day after I just couldn't hold it any longer. That's why I was so proud when, last week, Roxie put on the brakes and took a nice BIG POOP right on the sidewalk along Central Park. Life and it's simple pleasures.
We had just come from the dog park north of the Museum of Natural History. There were lots of New York dogs and we loved sniffing around with them. Some old man carrying the largest pooper scooper I have ever seen asked my dad how Angus can see with all that hair in his eyes and expressed his disapproval. My dad said "Mind your own business" under his breath and pretended to ignore the grumpy old man. We played on. The grumpy old man passed us again on his way out. Brandishing the largest pooper scooper any of us had ever seen he jeered " I am going to report you to the ASPCA if I see him here like that again." I could tell that my dad was pissed, but he maintained his composure as best he could and said "Angus is a Tibetan Terrier. His hair protects his eyes from the sun and the wind." The words came out like knives, small knives. Sensing a more worthy opponent than he probably anticipated, the old man lied and said, "I was only kidding." "No you weren't and it wasn't funny," my dad glared at him. We put Angus' hair up later when we returned to the hotel.
Not all New Yorkers are A-HOLES. On our way to the dog park, we crossed Central Park and and met Csopie. A seventeen-year-old Puli with her VERY NICE owner. I was told that Csopie means " little one" or something like that in Hungarian. She was the littlest one in her litter. As you can see, she has grown. Although I suspect a lot of that beautiful bulk is hair. Csopie kinda looks like me with dreadlocks. She is quite an enchanting pile. Csopie sat in her stroller like a queen on her throne. She's lost the use of her legs, but she still loves to come to the park. Quite a gal. Very alert and full of life. She got quite excited when I took some photos of her. I have heard that Pulis and Tibetan Terriers are related. I hope so.
Upon arriving in Manhatten, we stopped for a quick pizza at Motorino of 12th Street. Dad just ran in and picked up the pizza and ate it standing on the sidewalk. He loves that pizza. Roxie and Angus and I stayed in the car. The next day we went to Keste, another Nepoplitan pizza place, on Bleeker Street that the guy who owns Spacca Napoli, yet another Neopolitan pizza place, in Chicago recommended. 
At Keste, we met yet another nice New Yorker. Well, transplanted New Yorker. Alessandro form Rimini, Italy. Alessandro manages Keste. He told us the guy that owns Spacca Napoli in Chicago trained with the chef/owner of Keste. Keste means "This is it!" in Napoli. The arugula salad and the pizza were scrumptious. We will be back. Alessandro's sweet face alone would bring me back. The guy sitting next to us was also Italian (real Italian) and he told us that the pizza at Keste and another place called Gnocco are the best in New York. We will try Gnocco next time.
