Anyone who lives in New York City is bound to see a celebrity at some point. Being incredibly unobservant, I went five years without a single sighting. Then, within just a few months, my little section of Brooklyn was transformed from a quiet, family neighborhood into a star-studded, hipster playground. Believe me, this part of Greenpoint was not fancy. But because there were numerous abandoned warehouses scattered along West Avenue, a litter-filled, broken strip of pavement on the East River that boasted a frightening amount of alley cats and a gorgeous view of Manhattan, quite a few television networks moved in: Boardwalk Empire built their 1920’s New Jersey boardwalk two blocks away, Lena Dunham and her girls with great hair yet no self-esteem moved in three blocks southward, and CBS took over a warehouse down the street to film their Broadway-meets-television flop Smash. Our peaceful corner of the world had been discovered.
Contrary to what you might imagine, this hubbub wasn’t glamorous or exciting. In fact, it sucked. Whereas we once always found a parking spot right outside our building, we suddenly had to park a ten-minute walk away because trailers and equipment needed the street instead. Crew members yelled at us for walking our dogs through their set, also known as the public sidewalk, and fans hoping to catch a glimpse of so-and-so clogged the delis, whose owners jacked up the price of a Modelo six-pack from six to nine dollars (for cans, mind you, not even bottles).
But this was our home – a rent-stabilized home with a yard, no less. My husband and I and our dogs, a mixed breed named Basil and a Boxer named Bear, loved that yard. So, in order to keep it and to swallow the neighborhood transformation a little more easily, I devised a plan to turn us into super stars. Or, more exactly, a plan to turn Bear into a super star, fulfilling the rags-to-riches dream I felt she so deserved.
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A few years before this transformation began, Dave and I enjoyed a honeymoon cruise to Bermuda. Overflowing with giddy love the night we returned home, we visited our local bar and, drunk on beer, marriage vows, and personal pinball records, ran into our neighbor, Adam, standing on the corner with two big dogs, his Rottweiler named Zeus and Sarah the Boxer.
“Why do you have Sarah?” Dave slurred. She belonged to another neighbor of ours, a Polish man we often saw walking on West Avenue, and we’d never seen her with anyone else.
In his typical bro manner, Adam replied, “Well, dude, I hate to lay this on you, but her owner died this morning.”
As we pet sweet, stinky Sarah, Adam explained how her owner had been an alcoholic who lived in his broken-down car in the lot behind Adam’s house. He’d get drunk and wrestle with her, to the point that they’d both draw blood on one another, then pass out in a pile in the backseat. Adam discovered the man’s body earlier that day because Sarah, sitting on the pavement beside the open passenger door, was barking nonstop; her owner had died from alcohol poisoning that morning and his seemingly final act was to let his dog out of the car. This was all shocking news to us.
“She’s a good girl, but I can’t keep her,” Adam said, gesturing at his already 100-pound Rotty who was only a year old. “I don’t know what to do, man. I just can’t have both dogs at my place. This breeder in New Jersey was supposed to pick her up thirty minutes ago, but now he’s not even answering his phone.”
“No, no, we know this dog!” Dave exclaimed. “You can’t give her to a breeder. We’ll take her for the weekend, find someone who will spay her and be good to her. Right, honey?”
“Yes, definitely,” I replied, knowing it was a question with only one answer. But even if I’d had a choice, I still would have agreed. Sure, she stank, she jumped, she licked, and, to be honest, I thought she was ugly, but, as Dave said, we knew this dog. We could take a weekend out of our lives to find her a loving home. Plus, little Basil would go nuts over a house guest.
I should have known what I was getting into when I first saw the look on Dave’s face as he listened to Sarah’s story, but I’d never “fostered” a dog before and honestly believed it would be a two-day commitment. By the end of the weekend, our decision to keep her came down to a moment when Dave and Basil were both looking at me with pleading eyes, and I just couldn’t say no. I blame it on the honeymoon vibes.
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My love vibes had vanished by the time the neighborhood usurpers moved in, however. (more…)