On my street, I mean.
Most of the time I don't realize how often I talk to my dogs. See, I talk to them a lot when we're at home. You know, just regular stuff.. "Lila, what should we have for dinner tonight, hm?" "Jake, you want a treat, don't ya?" "Hey, one of you go get me a beer. Well, go on! Dammit, worthless dogs.. Fine, I'll get it myself!"
You know, the usual.
Often, I'll forget myself and talk to them while we're out. Hey, no biggie, really.. I mean, this is NYC.. We're known for our weirdos out here, so a girl talking to her dogs isn't that unusual.
Totally not that unusual.
It isn't, ok??
I forgot myself again. And, well, it was cold out tonight. And the dogs leashes kinda look like reins, y'know? And we were on an empty sidewalk anyway. So I start imagining in my head that I'm an intrepid and fierce adventurer in the arctic with my loyal and hearty dogs, sledding thru the tundra.
"Hyah! Mush! Mush, Lila! Mush, Jake! Onward! Hyah! Haha!"
Yes, I was yelling this.
Then I'd flick their reins, uh.. I mean leashes, I'd flick their leashes a little, and they'd start wagging their tails and walking faster.
I was on my 3rd or so delivery of "mush" when I look up and there is a woman standing there and watching me. In a doorway that I hadn't seen. Of course.
She was smiling a little, but I suspect it was in the smile-so-the-crazy-girl-with-the-dogs-doesn't-attack-me kinda way.
I just buried my head in my scarf and promptly ran down the block.
Fuck. Why do I insist on humiliating myself on the regular?
Me and my sled dogs are now safely inside where the embarrassment can fade. And be relived as I tell it to you. Sigh.
