Dogs and Children of NYC

This morning, as I was coming out of my apartment building (in the Village) I was almost run over by a three year old on a scooter. His mom, about a block behind him, was screaming some preppy name at him and telling him to stop. He did, turned, looked at her, shook his head, and got back on to finish the ride.

It's not uncommon for me to encounter small children at 8:45 during the week. There's a preschool located across the street from me and I'm used to dodging the little ones in their bugaboos and wearing tiny Seven jeans along with biting back laughter at some of the things I've encountered. Yesterday a boy was throwing a tantrum on the sidewalk in front of about forty witnesses. He was screaming and crying and his mother stood,watching him calmly and finally said,

"You can't have Mommy's keys." SIGH. "Mommy will get you your own set. How's that?" not that it stopped the crying but I have to say I was impressed with the way it was handled.

Dogs and children seem to have a completely different perspective here. The children mature faster and seem to be able to absorb everything and anything. Fire on their block? No problem. Homeless man soliciting them for money? Hold tightly to parents hand and ignore. It makes me wonder how I would have grown up in the city. When I first moved here I kept saying I couldn't imagine raising a family here and in some ways I can't. I can't think of what it would be like to grow up without a backyard and your own swingset, without some the luxuries that living in a large home can afford. But on the other hand, one day I ran into a woman with a beautiful four month old daughter, and she had already been to the MoMA. You can't do that in North Carolina.

The dogs seem to adapt to having to use the sidewalk as their toilet (something I certainly wouldnt' be able to do) and stay on a leash at all times except for the dog run. These are sandy, fenced in areas complete with children's swimming pools and tennis balls galore where dogs are gathered to play together while owners read, play, or talk with other dog owners. I sometimes sit in them, usually with a book but often without opening it. THere are also certain times of day when certain dogs will appear. A woman I work with, who brings her chocolate lab to work with her, says that when Rosy is in the dog park, she has an actual best friend. When the best friend went on vacation Rosy picked up another dog to play with for the duration but when the best friend returned she immediately ditched her new friend for the old. I found this hilarious as I imagined Rosy actually rejecting another dog who plays there every day. But there are definitely those relationships in the parks. When I walk by any of them throughout the city I stop and examine them and see hte same things. There are politics (and not always based on size), friendships, enemies. Everything that is in the people world is contained within these fences as the dogs vie for space in the pool on hot days and tennis balls at all times.

But the point is, they adjust. Adjust to living in a city that never truly sleeps and if it does is up again at 6. Adjust to noise and cement and cars and trucks all the time. Adjust to spending most of their days with a nanny while their parents work to afford the city life. There are even doggy day cares at various points along the city who will keep your dog when you can't, for the workday at least. It's pitiful to walk by them after work, and see all those dogs in the window just waiting for their owners to come and rescue them.

In a sense, I'm waiting to be rescued, too. It's almost like my work is a place where I am sent during the day but afterwards I want someone to come and retrieve me, want to walk with me back to my apartment while talking about the day. I don't have those friends yet. My boyfriend isn't out of work until hours after I am (another adjustment i'm having to make) and I don't have friends who work near enough to me to warrant meeting up every day for a short walk. So I sit in the window, watching New York go by and waiting for someone to stop and recognize me as one of their own.