Adventures at Woofstock

A few weeks ago, a friend and myself attended Toronto's 'Winter Woofstock' festival.  An offshoot of the popular summer festival. Woofstock is touted as North America's largest outdoor festival for dogs (but let's get real, how many can there be?) and is beamed all over North America via satellite.  Last year they had over 300 000 people and their canine companions.

Seeing as I missed the summer festivities, I was very excited to take the boys to the smaller winter version.

I imagine the smaller version gets half the amount of people.  That's 150 000 people and at least that many dogs (but then there are people like me who have two).  It's no wonder that the moment you walk inside the festival area, your nostrils are hit with a very strong mix of poop/pee/cleaner.

I hadn't thought of that.

Obviously that is what makes the outdoor one better.  At least the combined stench of 300 000 dogs enters the atmostphere and doesn't reach a ceiling keeping it contained.

My dogs are no  better than the other pooping pooches.  Even though both had JUST gone to the bathroom outside, Brooklyn immediately made his 'mark' on the carpet.  That's right folks.  Carpet.  So the festival took place in the convention centre and as opposed to leaving the ground it's normal cement self, the people of Woofstock covered the ground with carpet. 

Ugh.

I feel bad for the people whose job it was (and indeed there were people) to run after crapping canines with a bottle of disinfectant and paper towels. 

We made sure to keep clear of the 'spots' that dotted the carpet.  Newly cleaned but I did end up with poop on my shoe more than once.

You know how society makes fun of cat people?  Well, dog people are no better.  My friend and I were amazed at all the odd folks this sort of festival attracts. 

There were two poodles (I think, some sort of mix anyways) that were dyed pink and green. DYED!  Who dyes dogs?  Okay, I know someone who puts a little green highlight on her maltese's head - and it's cute.  But the whole animal?

The oddest thing was, and I am sure I will get in trouble for saying this, was that the owners of pink poodles were a lesbian couple.  And not the lipstick variety.  I guess I was surprised because if you told me that there was a woman who dyed her poodle pink, I would imagine one of those women who is shockingly thin, is married to an old rich guy, and hires a dog walker as opposed to walking the dogs herself.  Not a Rosie O'Donnell clone.

These are not the actual dogs, I just wanted to show you how crazy it is when you dye dogs

There were a plethora of yorkies.  Compared to other Yorkie owners, I am the most unprissy one.  Which is saying a lot.  Almost every Yorkie we saw was (A) teacup variety (B) wearing clothes and (C) in a bag.  And then there was my Yorkie:  pooping on carpets and licking other dogs' genetalia. 

Then there was one dog who looked like a cross between a hyena and a monster.  I usually think all dogs are cute, but this poor fellow might have been the ugliest creature I have ever seen.  My friend wanted to know what his breed was, and the steroid eating owner quiped 'Chinese Ching Chong'.  We aren't sure if he was trying to be funny or racist - but we can't find that breed anywhere.  Here is what comes up when you google images for Ching Chong Chinese Dog:

I entered Mr. Mop in a contest to be on the cover of a dog magazine.  I have been waiting for the pictures from that session to appear online, but it seems Mr. Mop didn't even make the cut.  Or they haven't uploaded Winter Fest yet.  Not that he would make cover boy.  I think he is possibly the cutest dog ever, but he hadn't been brushed or bathed in weeks.  Poor guy didn't stand a chance.  Not to mention I had cut matts from around his muzzle so he was very uneven and he had a spaghetti sauce stain between his eyes.

Mr. Mop has had some unusual grooming in his little life.  From the time I asked the groomer to keep most of his length but cut out his mats - he came home looking resembling swiss cheese.  Then the time I asked them to cut the mats from his head but (again) leave the length.  He had a flat top and reminded me of a Muppet character.  Just yesterday he went in for a bath and brush.  I asked the groomer to make him not look ponsy.  She eyed me strangely.  I just told her he doesn't need to look like  a Bichon or a Poodle.  So now he looks like a lamb.

Typical Bichon pouffy look

Mr. Mop's flat top

Baa

Anyhoo, back to our Woofstock.  Basically, it was a whole bunch of booths selling dog stuff.  We got a blanket and toys for subscribing to the Star, and free dog tags from Frou Frou.  We were all about the free.

Despite the foul smelling hall, poop on my shoe, and various other doggie grievances (Mr. Mop chomping on other dogs' heads, Brooklyn getting gang-humped) it was all in all enjoyable to see I am not the craziest dog owner out there.

A Day at the Park Sounds so Easy

Yesterday started off as a perfectly wonderful fall day.  Not a cloud in the sky, slightly cool crisp air, and a need to get out into the world.  The boys and I embarked on an adventure to Prospect Park - the Brooklyn cousin to Central Park.

It's a good twenty-five minute walk from my house, so already I feel we are getting appropriate exercise.  Then again I own a half-Jack Russell.

We stop at my favorite, Bergen's Bagels for a creamy coffee and a plain bagel toasted with light butter.  Mr. Mop is also a fan of the bagel and now knows this place.  As I carry my bag to the park, he jumps up trying to snatch it for himself.  In fact he was once successful and got over half my bagel.  Now I stuff it in my bag and hide it from him.

The boys and I meander through Park Slope.  Glimpsing all the lovely Brownstones with their Halloween decorations.  The sun is sparkling through the golden leaves.  All is well.

We find a bench and eat our bagel.  Yes, our, I shared it with the boys.  We watched people pass by and it was clearly old lady day at the park.  All these shuffling biddies strolled, in some cases wheeled, their way past us.  Arm in arm, gossiping away in Russian.  Some stopped to pat Mr. Mop on the head.  It was sweet.

Such a lovely day.

We strolled over the greens, headed to a forested area where I looked forward to letting the boys off leash (illegal after 9 am).  Teenagers were playing, girls screaming as boys played pranks.  I smiled.  Oh those were the times.  Mums played with their children in strollers, toddlers toddled around on their new found balanced feet.

What a lovely day.

I found the sought after privacy of the forest and let the boys run.  Mop was especially thrilled with his new found freedom.  He bounded and jumped and rolled.  So cute.  I noticed some dogs behind us so veered us onto a more private path.  Just me and the boys in the sun-filled forest.

Fall is magical.

But like all things serene and lovely when it comes to being me, it all cracked.

Firstly, Mr. Mop dashed to a mudhole so he could drink some water.  My newly bathed, white dog didn't merely sip from the side, oh no.  He bounded into the muddy water.  Awesome.  He squelched around so that his paws and face were completely black.  This made him more hyper.  So he ran around like a crazy idiot with mud flying from his body.  Then when I didn't think he could get more dirty, he rolled in the dirt and leaves trying to get the mud off of his face. Super.

Secondly, I discovered what made this path so private.  It's for horses.  That's right.  HORSES.  Luckily I saw him before my dogs did so was able to grab them in time.  This didn't stop them from barking their heads off as he passed.

One would think I should be smart enough to now leash my dogs.  Ummmm.  No.

Thirdly, what comes with horses?  That's right.  Horse poop.  If you have ever read my blog you know my dogs have a horrible love of horse crap.  The found a fresh new pile and went to town.  Then came me running behind them yelling to 'GET AWAY FROM THE POOP!!!".

Apparently eating feces makes both my dogs extra hyper.  So now they are running in circles, going nuts.  I am trying to get them back on leash but neither will come to be.  And we once again enter a public area.

Just as Mr. Mop is coming to me he sees . . .  the horse.

Fourthly, Mr. Mop tears after the horse barking his freaking head off but not before . . .

Fifthly, crossing a road in front of a truck carrying park people.  They begin to yell at me to get control of my dogs.

Sixth:  Brooklyn runs after Mr. Mop, I have to scream at the truck to STOP.  They are still yelling at me, Mr. Mop is circling the horse going nuts, and Brooklyn is running in his famous circles in front of the truck barking his head off.  The horse for the record, and its' person, were awesome.  They just stood still.

There are people looking at us now, including other dogs.  I know that my dogs will go crazy at these other dogs so my only option is to run screaming down a pathway because I know the boys will follow me.

I am wearing a bright pink sweater and my face is the same colour.

Predictably, the dogs follow and just enough that I can turn around, grab Brooklyn and throw Mop into an Alpha hold.  The horse continues his way, the truck shakes their fists at me, and the other dog owners stare at me in horror.

My task at hand is to make sure Mop is obedient.  He's gotten too hyper, he is out of breath and his heart is racing.  Being on his back calms him down.  I look at him and note that his beard is FULL of horse poop and he smells like s*^t.

GROSS.

Clearly, I put the leashes on.  Find a lake and dump the both of them in it to clean off horrible horse poop.

Then I look up.  

We are so far into the park that I am lost.  Clouds are taking over and this lovely fall day has turned into horse s*#t.

As I make our way out, we walk pass the NYPD trailers for horses.  That's right.  The horses were police horses.  Awesome.

Twenty minutes later I find us on a road and as we are walking down it, the god damn horse is heading towards us. Like Thelma and Louise, I veer off the path and back into the forest.  There is no freaking way we are running into him again.

Eventually I get us out of the park.  And so far from home that I am forced to pick up my mud-covered, horse pooped dogs and carry them into the subway.  This makes them panic so they claw me. Exposing my bra and belly to the entire car of the 'F' train.  On top of this they REEK.

They slept for the rest of the day.  And I vowed never to take them off leash again.  EVER.

The Future of Parenting

Dogs are like training wheels.  Having them gives you a glimpse as to what it's like caring for something, other than yourself, 24/7.  You have to feed them, walk them, make sure they are healthy and well-behaved, and make sure they learn not to poop in your shoes.  I don't really have to teach them how to read or ride a bike or have moral obligations to the world (other than not biting bulldogs heads) so they are not exactly like having kids.

Hence the training wheels.

Not only does it give you an idea as to what it will be like having kids, it gives you a glimpse of what sort of parent one will be.

I forced these dogs on the Engineer.  I clearly remember us sitting at sushi with my friend A and having her list all the pros and cons of having Mr. Mop.  She was trying to convince me to give him to someone so that we only had one dog.  The Engineer also thought this was a good idea.  I can safely say all three of us are now happy I did not follow her advice (four if you include Mr. Mop!).

Anyways, these dogs were forced on his lifestyle.  But a year and a bit later, I know he has formed feelings for these fuzzy muffins.  Just last night as I read on our bed, I saw him sitting watching the game with Brooklyn cuddled up on his lap getting a tummy rub.

It has also meant that he has started to co-parent with me.

I have seen our future.

The Engineer will definitely be taking the role as disciplinarian.  He is the one who consistently scolds the dogs and keeps rules rigid.  Dogs on the bed?  NEVER.  They get a firm 'off' (or now he just has to say their name) and they will jump off.

I am sure you wonder why they keep jumping on the bed if he keeps the rule rigid?  That would be my fault.

I am the sucker.  I am the one who laughs when Mr. Mop jumps on the bed yet again and calls it 'determination'.  I love Mr. Mop's 'determination'.  When he is forced to stay in the backseat but is so determined to be in the front that he wiggles out of his seatbelt and jumps through between the headrest and door of the passenger side.  Determination.  Or when he jumps over the hump from the hatchback and because he is attached to a ring via his harness, the poor dog simply hangs over the seat.  The Engineer tells him to get back, I laugh at his determination.

When I am a mother of human babies, I will be forever undermining what we've 'taught' them.

Mr. Mop had a scolding just yesterday for something.  I forget what now.  Anyways, he looked so sad at the Engineer that I scooped him up and gave him a cuddle.  The Engineer told me that now he'll think that if he wants me to cuddle him all he has to do is something bad.

I cut around his eyes the other day leaving them a bit crooked and long on the side, so it makes him look like he has 'worried' eyes all the time.  Worried, sad eyes.  Who wouldn't be a sucker for that?  Oh right, the Engineer.

We worry for the day our toddler paints the walls with finger paint or our teenager steals our car.  The Engineer will give them their punishment and I will sneak into their room later with cookies.

So that's it folks:  if you are curious as to what sort of parent you and your partner will be, go get a dog.