Sarasota, the American Paris by Domino the poodle

                                                                 Bonjour, Sarasota!

      Everyone knows that Paris is a dog’s kind of town. But without having to take language immersion classes or suffer the indignities of jet lag, we dogs have all that Paris offers right here in Sarasota, our own City of Love.

      When my poodle brother Dash and I started to be invited along on outings with our human family, we couldn’t quite believe it.  Up north, from where we recently moved, outdoor activities were limited by season.  But it’s a full year bonanza down here in Sarasota: dining al fresco at home or in restaurants, stores that invite us in and provide water bowls, parks where we accompany our exercising family, and our favorite, the weekly Saturday Farmers Market on Main Street.  

     At this event, while our family shops for food and flowers above us, down at their feet we dogs are involved in our own meet and greet.  We had to brush up on our social skills because these Saturday dogs are quite cosmopolitan; they seem to want to chat rather than play.  We newcomers found their tips quite helpful: which restaurants have the most legroom under the tables, which stores hand out the best dog treats, where the townie-dogs hang out; and most importantly, which dogs are hoodlums to be avoided.

     So now that we’ve got the hang of things, we can start helping the new dogs in town.  It’s easy to spot them: they're the ones who act like the lead dogs in an Iditarod Sled Race and drag their families along behind them like so many mushers.

    Once they see how dogs are treated in this town they’ll learn to relax like we did.  Sarasotans love their four legged friends and we’re usually a welcome addition anywhere we go.  We eat well, often wear adorable personal accessories and linger in outdoor cafes where we are privy to philosophical and educated conversations our people have about art, culture and the relative nature of personal happiness.  If things keep up like this, we may never have to visit Paris at all.  

Please read my other blog: http://srxq.blogspot.com/http://srxq.blogspot.com/

Toted in Sarasota by Dash the Toy Poodle

   OK, that does it. Mother stuffed me in her oversized handbag again and took me to the movies last night.  We went to the Burns Court Cinema.  They’re the artsy-fartsy film spot around Sarasota, so maybe we didn’t look that eccentric in this kind of crowd.  Since the theater shows a lot of foreign films too, we could always have said that we were French if we got caught. After all, dogs are allowed everywhere in Paris, so how would we know it was different here?

      Still, Mother is really taking my breed name, toy poodle, a little too seriously.  While my petite size encourages her to treat me like a child's favorite stuffed animal, in fact, I have abs of steel.  When she considers me her project or play thing, it disregards the buff physique I've developed playing Fetch in beautiful Urfer Park two blocks away from us on Bee Ridge Road. 

     If word gets out that she drags me around like a baby doll, I’ll be the laughing-stock among the neighborhood dogs.  For now, they think I spend my spare time catching frisbees on the beach or in one of our dog parks.  I tell them how I love to go with my human family on long, demanding treks in Myakka Park or power-walks around Sarasota Bayfront Park by Marina Jacks.

     While admittedly we do all of these things, I still get secretly schlepped along on Mother's “educational” outings. She says they’re good for me. Just recently, I had to sit through “Forever Tango” at the Van Wezel (ok, it was very impressive) and soon she has plans to sneak me into the Rubens print show at the Ringling Museum.

"Dash Has Had Quite Enough"

     I don’t think there’s anything I can do to get Mother to stop her madness. No matter how many times I tell her that for me, nothing beats a good game of ball-toss, she says that if I don’t broaden my interests and start to enjoy the cultural opportunities available in Sarasota, I might as well move to Trenton, New Jersey. 

Please read my other blog: http://srxq.blogspot.com/http://srxq.blogspot.com/http://srxq.blogspot.com/

King of the Road by Dash, the toy poodle

                                                      King Dash And His Don't-Mess-With-Me-Macho-Face

     My buddies, the chihuahua up the block, the yorkie down the street and the whatever-you-want-to-call-him around the corner, are accustomed to seeing me carry a tennis ball in my mouth during my daily constitutionals. When I get close they step back, a bit awed, and give me space to pass them.  It’s not easy carrying a ball for 20 minutes straight as I accompany Mother on those power walks humans are so fond of, and they know it; especially when the ball is as big as my head.  So now I have a lot of street cred.  I can feel their admiration and I like it.  

My brother, Domino, is jealous of the respect I get from our canine friends. Of course, he doesn’t say he’s jealous, but I know it.  And that’s not cool, brother to brother, know what I mean?  He should have my back.  But he can’t stand that I’m in the spotlight without having to pander. It irks him that I’ve become, and forgive me Roger Miller, King of the Road.  But, and I continually remind him of this, I’ve earned it!  I don't rely on the kindness of strangers or archaic pissing contests to mark my territory.

As a good brother, I tried to help Domino save face in front of the others; even gave him tips: no more delirious high pitched barking when he sees the yorkie (for some reason, yorkie boy has Domino’s number), and no more rabid tongue panting when he gets hot.  I’ve told him: Better to walk slower than look like you’re about to be committed. Or if that doesn’t work, think "cat." I’ve learned a thing or two about their clever come-to-me-first attitude.  People say cats are just like that, but I say they’ve figured out this approach through experience.

Sadly, self-control seems beyond Domino. His excuse is that he’s happy and excited. But I, and unfortunately the neighborhood gang, see his wild antics as weakness. He’ll just have to make his own friends somehow. New people moved in a few houses down from us with a baby cocka-who-knows-what. That puppy is so beside herself.  She almost choked on her collar when it got wrapped around her neck as she bounded over to meet me.  Sloppy. No grace.  Maybe Domino will finally make a friend.

Please read my other blog: http://srxq.blogspot.com/http://srxq.blogspot.com/