Okay, so this puppy learner has learned one major downside to warmer weather (or at least the in-and-out promise thereof) are puppies front and center in those storefront windows that have remained vacant for many many months. Yeah. They’re vacant no more.
I noticed the other day en route to ballet that there was a big sign on the window that pronounced “the puppies are back!”. Don’t these people understand I am trying to be a responsible social Manhattanite who knows she’s probably not ready to quite be home enough to allow her to join the ranks of the plethora of puppy owners on her block? Why why why flaunt these cute puppies I want to plunk down my dough on at every street corner? It’s just brutal!
My mom and I were up by Bloomingdale’s yesterday and I found him. HIM. The perfect one. The one I wanted to run away with ASAP. The one that could pee all over my apartment with and I’d still be able to squeeze out a smile. The one I’d willingly don sweats, sans showering, to promenade around the block and pray that he’ll decide to do number one or two quickly, yes even though it’s raining, so I won’t be late to get ready, late to get to the train, and ultimately late to work – requiring skipping the occasional morning cappuccino.
He was, but of course, sitting shiningly in the window. He was surrounded by little puppy punks, one of which was biting the tail of it’s poor neighbor and I wanted to just smack it straight. What little white fluffball has the right to gnaw on it’s neighbor’s tail? C’mon you little yapper! Anyhow, he was sitting like the perfect little gentleman in the corner, playing with the toys and not having anything to do with the tomfoolery that was abounding all around the remainder of the glass pen that conceptually I still find a little cruel.
When the little white yapper came and attacked MY cute gent Yorkie (the perfect combination of the black and caramel color that I want my Yorkie to possess), he almost politely but yet firmly snapped back. It was clear it was only in defense. He had such a sweet and loving personality about him. If I’m going to reprioritize my life for a pet, I’d like to think they are at least appreciative. He would clearly be that. Ohhh. I just wanted to whisk him away from his glass pen-mates and take him back to LJ’s safe haven land. I caved.
I strolled in and passed a threshold not yet crossed. And before I knew it, I heard myself utter the following words: “Excuse me – how much are the Yorkies?”
I was referred to a man behind the counter and I then strolled over to restate my question to a new audience. I braced myself for the answer. Gasp. I wasn’t prepared for what he had to respond.
Without flinching, he responded, “Oh, the Yorkies are $3,800-$4,000. Let me know if you would like to hold one.”
Hold one? I was already attached to my little gent. The last thing I needed to touch was pure gold in a fluffy form. I somehow managed to squeak out a polite “okay, thanks…” before I spun on my heels and marched back out the doors I’d so emphatically avoided.
I asked my mom to make a guess. Her mid-$1Ks sounded paltry all of the sudden to the mountain o’ moolah I’d just been quoted. I tapped one last time at my little gent and we walked away.
I have to say, sitting here, I’m getting all riled up again. Ridiculous. I hope Muffie or Mary Katherine Socialite who comes along loves him and enjoys him like I would have. I mean goodness, we’re talking willingness to push the social life to the side a bit from yours truly. That’s some c-o-m-m-i-t-m-e-n-t and promise of love. I hope someone with a big fatty check book but yet some genuine care for animals comes along soon to rescue him and gets him out of that horrid place. Wish it could have been me