When I first got Cohen, I was fooled by his serious face and his compassionate (I know they look disinterested in this photo, but TRUST me, they used to seem concerned.) eyes. I thought he might be a genius, seriously. I taught him to use a litter box and how to high five and how to catch his treats in his mouth.
As it turns out, he was a puppy, and by definition, well, you can teach new dogs new tricks. It's the law.
So all of the excitement of having a genius dog has waned a little bit over the last two years, and I have come to terms with the fact that I just have a thoroughly entertaining, average smart dog. But he makes me smile a lot when he chases his tail or when he sometimes falls down in the middle of running around in manic circles because he gets tired or, most recently, when he jumps like a hurdler when he cosses over the the threshold of the hardwood living room and tiled kitchen in the new apartment. By now, I'm think Cohen is nuts and giving Paul Anka a run for his idiosyncratic money.
Anyway, we've just moved to Brooklyn and have been park hopping all over DUMBO, Fort Greene, and Park Slope. Cohen is about 50/50 on his Pro/Con tally for the City. He likes that there are 8 million people in the vicinity to tell him he's the 'cutest little thing.' But he does not like double-decker tour buses. He does like the plethora of smallish bushes (which he thinks are trees because he is a 'giant pug'), but he does not like the subway grates and manhole covers. He likes for homeless men and gangbangers to pet him, but he hates children. (Hey, I never said he didn't inherit some of this.)
Today, he goes for an interview at Monster Mutts, a doggie daycare where, if he passes, he can play with other dogs when and if the movers ever deliver my furnture. Don't you think Miracle Mutts is a beter name? You know, like the Mets?
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