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.  

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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. 

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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.

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SRQ Magazine Interview, February 3, 2012

[Newcomers]  Pamela Beck, SRxQ Blog Tedi Doychinova, Tedid@srqmediagroup.com Moved From: Connecticut. My Profession There: Communications Consultant, Psychotherapist, Art Gallery Owner. Friday Nights There: Were cold and tame or warm and tame. Why I Moved: To develop a real friendship with my parents now that we're all old enough to have one. Now I Am: Writer and two-blog blogger: One blog, at SRxQ.blogspot.com, follows me from museums to mangroves as I try not to gloat over my good fortune at having moved to Sarasota. The other blog, at WhatDogsReallyThink.blogspot.com, reveals the heady insights of my two dogs who concur with Socrates that the unexamined life is not worth living. I am now happy to be with my beau Brad and newly-arrived daughter Serena who already loves the Mote Marine Aquarium and beach. Friday Nights Now: New restaurant, new performance, new art exhibition or live music. First Impressions:Why don’t more people know about our Shangri-La? Biggest Potential Community Mistake: 1. Not seeing that Saraso-tomorrow is Saraso-today. What should we encourage going along with the usual? Late live music, local festivals and cross-promo between businesses, community, arts and education. Why? To keep and showcase talent; to attract visitors, young families and boomers looking for the ideal 21st century town. 2. Not enabling our seniors—i.e. all of us if we’re lucky—to be the model for our graying nation. New choices and technologies allow seniors to remain at home longer and improve their quality of life as they improve ours by being among us. My Vision: I'd love to see Sarasota better protected from economic downturns. One idea: link business, entertainment and cultural venues via a single, scannable smart-pass program. It could: provide incentives at each venue; offer last-minute sell-offs via phone updates; promote events via apps and website; shine a light on lesser-known gems; be sold in blocks of time; or be used for either visitors or locals. People do organize their choices through media and cards/passes. A smart-pass draws us to every sector in Sarasota, introduces our offerings to visitors and residents and gives us the chance to care for our jewel of a town together. Please read my other blog: http://srxq.blogspot.com/http://srxq.blogspot.com/

Primo Hair, C'est Moi by Domino, the mini poodle

Apparently I have ‘primo’ hair.  I know this because when Mother came to pick me up after my haircut at the dog salon, Karen, the groomer cried out “This perky poodle has primo hair.  He should be in a show ring with that mop. Why ever were we cutting it so short?”  Why ever, indeed.

This oversight really makes me wonder about my family’s priorities.  I know how out of the way both my mother and grandmother go to keep their blonde hair (natural or otherwise) looking its best.  I hear them say that everyone in our family gets equal treatment; but after Karen’s comments, that’s beginning to appear a bit disingenuous, isn’t it?  Facts are facts. It now seems clear that they just had Karen trim me in the most efficient way possible and my curls be damned..

Not to throw my Mother’s own words in her face to make my point, but when confronted with an issue, not in her area of expertise, she always says “What am I an expert in this field? Ask a professional. How should I know?”

Well, if that’s the criteria, then it turns out I do have ‘primo’ hair and, as such, deserve special treatment.  It’s not as if I’m being spoiled asking for this recognition; to be honest, it’s not really even about my hair.  I’d just like to be able to believe in my family one again.

My trust has wavered ever since they told me that poodles were their favorite breed but then I found out that Mother has dog allergies. So perhaps the fact that I have primo hair was valued after all; but who wants to be loved because they don't make people sneeze?

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Christmas Threat by Domino and Dash,mini & toy poodles respectively

Dogs don’t really care about Christmas.  It’s just another day for us, although we try to pretend that it’s special, kind of like the way Jews do.  Not that we don’t enjoy the festivities--who doesn’t want another ham-infused nylabone?  (Would grandmother say, ‘Stop, no more cashmere’?)

But why must Christmas make humans fly their freak flags around dogs?  Otherwise tasteful people suddenly think we pups look better in red and green harlequin collars or sweaters saying Santa knows we’ve been naughty.  And must our every step be announced by the bells you’ve decided are our seasonal accessory?  Please don’t take away the one clear advantage we dogs have over you: we get to run around naked like you know you want to.

Besides the indignities of dress up, the rest of the holiday is quite fun: the mayhem, the markedly improved quality of food scraps, the extra laps to nuzzle in for ongoing scratches.  All good.

So with Christmas just around the corner, may we take this moment to remind our humans that when you are all together this week, try to include us pups, and not just as that one family member with a mock-me target on his back?

Just remember that we’ve seen you steal your sister’s sweater, ‘borrow’ money from your mother’s wallet, and read your friend’s diary after you excavated it from its hiding place in the back of her closet.  We may not be able to tell this to anyone, but if there’s even a sniff of a miniature elf hat around us this year, be prepared to see your secrets every time you look into our big, adorable eyes that are watching, always watching, you.

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