Love to all. Even you.

Wait. Scratch that. My life is POOP.

Between this puppy, who clearly believes that a walk outside is a precursor to pooping inside, and my 4-year-old, who has suddenly decided that he no longer needs to poop anywhere but in his pants… well… you get the idea.

But I’m being dramatic. Maggie’s home. I’m at work. So really, it’s much worse for her.

Love to all. Even you, the sloppy dude who used the men’s room before I did.

This is the reason I love New York City: all I have to do to acquire some serious energy is go outside. The moment I hit the street I get slammed – absolutely slammed – with the rocket-fast vibe of a thousand different people all at once. Every race and religion and level of sanity broadcasts its signal, and all I have to do is walk down the street and simply RECEIVE.

Love to all. Even you, Bostonites.

First of all, you might want to file this under “crazy-ass theories Rich comes up with when doing direct marketing work on the 5:30am train to NYC.”

In the past, I was known to say, “Dude, I WISH I was bisexual. That way, I could hook up whenever I wanted to.” This assumes that I was bi and single, of course.

I mean, if being gay was a “choice,” then all men would be gay. Or at least really, really, bi. After all, men are orgasm-centric. We can largely separate the emotional from the physical. Or at least we think we can. It might just be that we get overwhelmed by the Orgasmic Urge, and then feel terribly guilty about it. Feel free to write in on that one.

But my point is that if men could, by choice, find other men sexually attractive, don’t you think they would? That way, they could be, like: “Yo, Dave: want to jump out for a beer and a hand job?” Especially younger dudes, as opposed to 30-something guys like me who, um… have achieved perfect mental, spiritual, and physical balance.

Did you buy that last one? Stop giggling, dammit.

By the way: I’m not reducing homosexuality to sexual urges. I fully realize that gay and lesbian relationships are just as complex, dramatic, and stupid as heterosexual ones. I’m just talking about one facet, here.

Love to all. Even you, the bored-looking lady in the hot pink dress and 2-inch heels, anxiously waiting to exit Metro-North train.

She does. And so do I, since she pooped directly on top of a braided belt of mine… I’m not sure if it’s possible to really, truly clean it. At least on the first pass. Do I dare think I did a good enough job and wear it to work? I think not. The potential for “what the hell is that smell” incidents is simply too large.

So, meet Mimi. My oldest picked her, my daughter named her, and my youngest think’s she’s aces. I like her, too. A lot. I’ve already had a sit down with her about Carter, so she knows a little family history. I’ve slept on the floor with her for the past three nights, since that keeps her from crying. It’s a tradition that started with newborn humans (the babies slept on my chest the first night or so), and continued with puppies (including Georgette).

It’s 5:37am, and I’ve got to walk her again before I catch the train to NYC.

Love to all. Even you, the cat-biased person with the mismatched shoes.

“Sometimes, opportunity knocks.” Maggie just said this, and it’s very true.

My friend wrote me a wonderful note about the dogs he’s had over the years. He currently has a tremendous pup that volunteers with him at a local hospital, doing “pet therapy.” Patients get to hang with this wonderful dog, and it makes them feel better. At the end of the letter, he said “I look forward to meeting Carter’s successor, but not replacement.”

Thinking about Carter over the weekend, I decided to look up his breed, the Flat-Coated Retriever (he was either a purebred or a dominant mix). I put myself on the “rescue” list, and shot some emails off to the Flat-Coat Society about local breeder resources. They got back to me fifteen minutes ago and said “Flat-Coat rescues are extremely rare, but there’s a breeder about a hundred miles north of you. They have a puppy for you, if you want one.”

My first thought was: “Man, that’s quick.” Carter was sick for 4.5 months, but he only passed on Friday. But then I realized that this thought was driven by what I felt OTHERS would think. Not by reality. I love Carter SO much, and always will. Acting on an opportunity like this is separate from Carter. I openly admit that I want a dog to love, no matter how goofy that makes me sound. (And I do love our other dog, but Georgette isn’t really my type of dog. I like her, but as part of the pack, as opposed to a super-personal connection.)

Maggie said that she felt we were honoring Carter by looking at another dog in his breed. I disagree. I think they are completely separate. I’ll honor Carter by trying to be more patient. That’s the lesson he taught me. If I get this puppy, well… the Adventure Continues.

Love to all.