(Blogger's note: I have always been a cat person. But Fluffy, my first dog, who was stolen, changed all that. Now I have Andy, my dogg-o. As I've not been able to write anything new, I am posting a love letter of a friend, Marina, to his son Pio.)
He beats my alarm clock most days. As soon as the rays of sunshine hit the bed, Pio, the chihuahua mix whom I adopted more than a year ago, licks my face to wake me up. If I try to hide under my blanket, he will burrow his slight 6-pound frame until he is able to lick my nose. He will also drop his toy on my face, if I fail to sit up right away. He has his methods. Snoozing is not an option.
And so my day begins.
After a trip to the toilet, I step on a digital weighing scale. I have been struggling with my weight for the last twenty years. A health warning from my doctor after a spike in my blood sugar has forced me to face this struggle with greater concern. I am using a diet app to monitor my progress. I am learning to change the composition of my calorie sources as well as train to reduce the calorie density of my meals.
Pio follows me around as I prepare a quick breakfast and eat it. He watches me. Any hint of a pause in my activities, he drops a squeaky toy at my feet. He wants to play. That’s the reason he woke me up. Mom! Mom! I can hear the thought bubbles come out of his head.
I take his collar, harness, and leash. I tell him to come up to the sofa so that I can put them on him. He normally puts up a fight, running away from me as I put his harness on. It’s a game he plays but it’s half-serious. He’s happy to go out but he doesn’t want to wear a harness. This is New York City, dog! And you are a New York City dog. You have to wear your tag and be on a leash, you know that. Otherwise, Mom will be fined. Besides, the collar-harness-leash combo is Italian leather!
I get ready to leave. I collect the poop bag, the dog treats, and my apartment keys. Pio is ready and waiting by door. He’s excited. I put on my shoes. Pio is patiently waiting for the door to open. When I do, he’s first out of the apartment. He waits patiently for me to lock up and then he goes running down the flights of stairs to the ground floor. On his way, he checks if I’m following him. At the main door, I put on his leash.
We make our way to Fort Tryon Park, a block from where we live. On a nice day, the walk takes us an hour. I have a preferred route but Pio likes to change things around. Today, I will insist on going up the hill behind The Cloisters, which is part of the Museum of Modern Art, and walk along the path overlooking Hudson River.
Depending on the time of morning, we will come across the regulars, usually by the back entrance to the park. If it’s very early, say around 6ish or half past, Pio gets to say hi to one of his favorite big dogs, an Irish Wolfhound named Ellie. I don’t know why Pio adores him. He’s a very chill 165-pound pony-sized dog who works as a therapy dog for war veterans and at-risk school children. When Pio sees Ellie, he will strain at the leash and run to him when I let him go. He tries to smell Ellie but Ellie’s too tall so Pio will try to get his attention so that Ellie will smell him instead. Pio will even lie on his back to show his belly in hopes that Ellie will notice him. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
If we are out an hour later, we meet up with Persephone, a mystery mutt rescued from Puerto Rico after the huge hurricane. There’s also a retirement aged French bulldog whose name I now forget. Persephone’s human family has a boy in middle school who goes through the park to catch his school bus. The boy and the Frenchie get along well.
The Frenchie’s human is Ed and Ed is popular with dogs in the park. Ed calls himself the drug dealer to the dogs. He carries lamb lung treats with him. Apparently, dogs can’t get enough of these things. You can see him surrounded with dogs sitting and waiting for their turn to get their share. I bought a bag of those treats because Pio is one of the park addicts who gets excited as soon as he sees Ed. When the treats were delivered to the apartment, I offered them to Pio and he refused to take them. Damn dog! What?! Pio only takes them from Ed, the dealer!
I enjoy these walks. I have made friends. Or, more accurately, Pio has made friends.
I like the walks for other things. The changing of the seasons are the highlight. During winter, the best day is when the snow comes down in powdery form and kids take their plastic sleds down a small hill with a meadow at the bottom. Pio and I are bundled up in triple or quadruple layers as we trudge through soft snow along the trail. At Spring time, two cherry trees go in full pink bloom at this meadow compelling you to take a photo to capture such a special moment. In the Summer, the Heather Garden is the center of attention. Each day introduces you to a new flower in bloom. You walk along thinking you have seen the peak and the next day a new bunch of comes out in full display. Or, maybe you just didn’t notice that one the other day. The garden is lush and you don’t have a name for every color of petal or shape of leaf. Your smile today is not the same smile as yesterday’s. For me, Autumn is most glorious. When leaves turn to yellow, or rust, or brown and they begin to lose their grip on the branches. Then they fall and swirl and catch the breeze. The ground is littered with these chlorophyll factories shutting down and turning the ground into an abstract mosaic of another year about to end.
On the way back to the apartment, Pio often pounces on me from the back. He’ll jump up with his front paws hitting my legs. He’ll keep doing that until one of two things happen. I give him a treat. And not just one. Or, I pick him up and carry him home. Yeah, he plays at being a baby. Then one day, while I carried him, he fidgeted around and he stood up balancing himself on both my outstretched arms. That’s right, the image in your head is right. I am walking in the park with a dog standing on my arms like I had an Egyptian pharaoh on parade and I was his slave carrier.
I am not a morning person. But since I adopted Pio, I have had to change my routine to train him into a city-appropriate, community friendly dog. I probably benefitted more from this change than I’d like to admit. The morning walks now take me half way to my 10,000 steps a day goal. My doctor is pleased. My therapist is also pleased since the walks have led to increased human contact in this very individualistic, hectic, and oftentimes toxic city. Pio wakes me up each morning. He walks me through the park while I try to find meaning in the changing of the seasons. Then he makes me carry him home. I adopted Pio and now he owns me.
