Fly Baby

In my absence Aggy has begun growling at other dogs. All of the people who have watched or walked Aggy have commented about this separately. The notes that describe the cuddles and pees and poops of my little monster also mention distinct growling. It's always the fluffy, white stuffed animals who have come to life types that you have to watch out for. Apparently, on one walk a neighbor mentioned that A. had looked so friendly and then the fierce growl at a pomeranian. Somebody missed her mommy! That's all I can say. I can't help but equate this to my relationships because, as anyone who knows me knows, Aggy is me or a projection of me or like an appendage of mine. Just like my dad and our dogs Dusty and Max, Aggy will be cremated and buried with me. My mother, on a recent drive cutting through a cemetery reminded us of her plans to be cremated.

Gently, she reminded my dad that he needed to pick a plot in the cemetery. "You better pick your spot." Long pause. "You know what I want," she said.

"But then what?" I asked her. "Where do you want to go?"

This was mulled over and my memory is fuzzy but I think the plan is to sprinkle her in a few different places. Or share her.

I thought this was dumb and said so. "Pick a place," I said, but nothing was decided. Maybe she'll pick a nice, sunny state. A vacation spot.

But back to the fascinating tale of why my dog is suddenly Jaws. Whatever way you look at it, Aggy and I are one in the same. Aggy's recent decision to snarl at pit bulls, and let out growls in the backseat of a friend's car to another dog three times her size who is sweeter than Mother Theresa and whose teeth I've not ever seen, is disturbing, mildly upsetting and completely understandable.

When people don't get what they want they take it out on whoever is near. That anger bubbles up and has to go someplace. Hold on. I do have a point here. I just don't quite know what it is yet. Okay, time to justify my blog again: this blog is where I can explain what happens on my dates, summarize, and in some form: growl. As you may suspect, no word from D. But you know what? Said pushy, Jewish woman - this describes half the East Coast - was right. Having other men you are dating makes a significant difference and here's why.

Whether D. is a narcissist, a married man, in the CIA or a fly baby (another term for a louse) or all four rolled up into one delicious, wingless cocoon: I'm not wasting any more time on him. If I had balls, I'd post his picture and phone number on this site, but since he is not really worth the effort of figuring out how to download a photo, I'll restrain. That said, if you see a man who looks like Robert Downey Junior only with a beard, less hair on his head, a bowtie, and a weird quasi-accent, texting his life away, feel free to toss your sandwich at him or your cocktail. He need not experience physical pain, just the equivalent of a little smack across the face or a tap on the nose. That's all I'm asking.

Thank you.