We had a little bit of everything this spring – Real Housewives, dog parades, cocktail competitions, Irish parades, celebrity drag queens, puppy drama, bingo, wine, hockey, cocktails, manure stench, more cocktails, a male pageant, and much, much more.
Here are some of my favorite shots of the spring:
The dogs by Trinity River Bridge
A man blasting music from a segway on the Katy Trail
Gunter the chihuahua chowing down in front of Starbucks (we always get them whip creme)
Gunter is almost three years old now, so I thought that I could trust him outside of the kennel.
He no longer cries when I leave the house, which is half the struggle of puppydom. Gunter also hasn’t had an accident inside since last winter, when the weather was so cold in Minnesota that he went on strike – refusing to poop outside.
It was very distressing for both of us.
I’ve alternatively described my apartment building as a dog-friendly residential hotel, Melrose Place, and an adult dorm.
In true dorm fashion, my neighbors occasionally trigger the fire alarm in the middle of the night. This happened today at 3 a.m.
February is a hard month. Like a Siberian prisoner, I accept my frozen circumstances and stop hoping for spring.
So the snow completely melted, revealing five months of filth, trash, small dead animals, and dog crap. Yes, dog crap – there’s a subset of dog owners who don’t pick up dog shit when there’s snow on the ground. I don’t get it.
Hugo went from an awkward puppy that excitedly pees on our neighbors’ legs to an awkward young dog that eats our socks. This is progress.
Hugo, a Labrador and Greyhound (?) mix.
This is particularly challenging because many people go out of their way to greet Hugo, and almost all of them think the jumping thing is adorable.
Hugo, a Labrador and Greyhound (?) mix.
To complicate matters, I typically juggle my dog leashes with a coffee cup or cellphone in one hand, which isn’t ideal for control. What usually happens is that end up spilling coffee all over myself while attempting to keep Hugo off of an overexcited Lowertown tourist.
Hugo, a Labrador and Greyhound (?) mix.
The adoption papers from the Animal Humane Society listed Hugo as a Labrador mix, but didn’t really specify what the mix was.
Initially, everyone assumed that the brindle color must be a pitbull indication, but we suspect that Hugo is actually a Lab and Greyhound mix.
He’s developing an increasingly narrow frame and looks very similar to the brindle greyhounds living on our floor. So that could be it, right?
Hugo, a Labrador and Greyhound (?) mix.
We’ll likely have a better idea of what Hugo is after he’s fully grown. For now, we’ll leave the paternity speculation to Maury.
The majority of these people seem to wander over from the homeless shelter across town or from the bus stops on Minnesota Street.
That’s why call them tourists.
We have just arrived in at the park when one of our neighbors approaches us. She’s a short blond woman who owns a dachshund.
Like most of our neighbors, we recognize her dog, but have no clue what her name is.
Neighbor: “Sorry if this is weird, but can I borrow one of your phones to call the police? I forgot mine.”
Me: “Uh…sure…what…what’s going on?”
Neighbor: “There’s this guy over there passed out in the middle of the sidewalk. I talked to him and he’s completely out of it. He’s drunk.”
I walk to the center of the park and see a middle aged white guy sleeping on a backpack near the Galtier Tower.
His drunk mumbling instantly brought me back to my RA days, herding passed out freshmen.
Our passed out friend hears the sirens and springs to life. He’s already propped up on the railing of the fountain when the fire truck swings around the corner.
About six paramedics jump out of the firetruck. We point them toward the drunkard.
The paramedics briefly talk to the drunk guy and then stroll back to the truck while rolling their eyes. This guy is obviously not worth their time.
A St. Paul Police squad car pulls onto the sidewalk as the paramedics leave. A police officer briefly chats up the drunk guy and eventually tells him to move along.
By this time about a dozen of our neighbors are huddled around us with their dogs, intently watching the cop car.
I was surprised that the cop initially let this guy go in the first place, given how drunk he was. Two weeks ago we saw 6 or 7 cops swarm a black guy who was drinking beer in the park.
The now-awake guy walks toward the Bulldog Restaurant on the other side of the park. He reaches the corner of the park just as the fire truck rounds the corner.
The drunk guy starts screaming at the fire truck. We all watch as the cop jumps in his car, speeds 50 feet across the park, hops out, and slaps handcuffs on the drunk guy who he should have arrested in the first place.
We begin telling the drunkard arrest story to one of our neighbors when we notice a cop car on 5th Street.
The squad car screeches to a halt near the bus stop across from the park.
Two cops get of the squad car and a black guy immediately starts running down the street. The cops chase after the guy as he screams “PLEASE! PLEASE! DON’T SHOOT ME!”
The cops get the guy on the ground but he keeps screaming. Backup squad cars materialize and soon we have about six cops on the street.
Predictably, the lights and commotion attracts a bunch of our dog walking neighbors.
They gather around us just in time to watch the cops pull a gun off the guy and place it in an evidence bag before throwing him in the back of a squad car.
St. Paul police officers arresting someone in Mears Park.
Shortly after the last squad car left, another Mears Park regular walks up to us. He lives by the nearby Wacouta Commons Park and owns a bug-eyed Chihuahua.
Me: “You missed the show.”
Wacouta Guy: “Oh?”
Me: “Yep. Someone was just arrested at the bus stop. He had a gun.”
Wacouta Guy: “Ugh. I came to this park to get away from that kind of show. I just called the cops before the dog walk — a guy was getting beat up by a group in front of my condo.”
Great.
Stay classy, St. Paul.
The place is an assault to the senses – howling dogs, employees trying to manage the hoard of would-be adopters, and the overpowering stench of dog piss.
It was in this chaos that we found Hugo, our new dog.
No one believes us.
The conversations usually go something like this:
Neighbor: “Oh what a beautiful puppy, what type is he?”
Me: “A lab and retriever mix.”
Neighbor: “Looks like a pit bull to me.”
Me: “The pound didn’t tell us about any pit bull mix. Other dogs have brindle colors too…”
Neighbor: “Well your secret is safe with me.”
Me: “What secret? THERE IS NO SECRET. I HAVE NOTHING TO HIDE. DAMN IT.”
Günter was initially territorial and bitchy to Hugo. He’d constantly growl and snap at Hugo, especially around toys.
Then Hugo realized that he was bigger than Günter….and that he could mug him for toys.
Tangentially – my building management company recently reduced their list of banned dog breeds. We now have a 200-bound mastiff in the building, and bullmastiffs are allowed too! (About a year too late however.)
Hugo would pounce on Günter, causing a fight. We’d scream. The dogs would scatter, and then start up a few minutes later.
Then we hit a turning point where they actually started playing with eachother.
Luckily my building strictly relies on adoption paperwork, so the pit bull rumors weren’t a factor in adopting him.
Mitchell with Günter, our Chiweenie.
I think they wore each other out.
Hugo is only three months old, so that means he’s not potty trained yet. He pees everywhere.
He pees on the carpet. He pees in the toy box.
He pees in the kitchen. He pees when you let him out of the kennel.
He even (tries) to pee in the lobby.
It’s exhausting.
One day we were on the way to Mears Park when a couple asked to pet Hugo. So of course Hugo leaps up and pisses all over the guys leg.
We were mortified (and slightly amused.)
He’s working on it.
Kind of.
Some days I love being a caretaker. Other days, the landlord wants you to pick up a winter’s worth of dog shit from the back and 5 potential tenants flake on showings.
Remember how this is my week of restful bliss? Hah. Well, Gertrude and Harley decided that 4:30 a.m. is the official morning dog-walk time. This isn’t going well.
Most of my friends are cat owners. I blame renting policies, because I think more people would chose dog-ownership if they could.
I’ll skip the whole diatribe on how cats are filthy and destructive, because someone’s just going to point out that my dogs aren’t any better.
Now, I’m sure this is just a guy delivering phone books:
But I see a ton of junked-up cars in my neighborhood which remind me of the people on A&E’s Hoarders show.
This was the week of shit. The dogs kept breaking into my 3-tiered plastic food shelf, gorging themselves, and then crapping everywhere.
I would come home to find a chocolate rendition of the Bavarian Alps in my living room, and the dogs passed out in the kitchen. The dogs also figured out how to open the toilet lid and drink the blue-water, so they had the runs most of the time.
The steamer and cleaning spray barely kept up. I spent most of my week flustered and disgusted. Ick.
And although I finished moving to the new apartment last week, I had yet to clean out my old apartment because I thought that I had until August 1st to move out.
So I was horrified when my landlord left me a voicemail: “I showed your apartment today. It’s trashed. I’m also showing it tomorrow. Can you clean it, you filthy slob of a man?”
As a rule, any unexpected entrances into my apartment happen on the ONE day that it is trashed, so I should have expected that call.
This blog needs a redesign. I have more unfinished laundry than a women’s penitentiary. My bike, rollerblades, and gym shoes feel neglected.
I am one check-in from becoming mayor of McDonald’s. (My love handles don’t lie.) My progress on my album is underwhelming. And, and and.
I think I overdid it yesterday.
Yesterday, the sweet sound of garbage trucks woke the dogs up at 5am. I walked the monsters, snuck off to the library, and took my Family Law exam at 8:30.
After the exam I channeled Jillian Michaels for two hours at the gym, walked the dogs again, and then (somehow) ended back in the library to print of copious amounts of international tax law regs.
It is spring in Minneapolis…
I had some cute pictures of Angelo that I forgot to post. Behold:
Angelo went home on Sunday, and his parents said that he seems lonely.
I suspect there are some play dates in Harley’s future.
I’m dogsitting Joel’s brother’s pug.
The pug was initially too hyper for Harley. The pug tore into the room and swung around Harley.
Harley shot me a look like “who brought the circus in?”
The pug has calmed down, and Harley likes him now. They have even started practicing their blank stares:
The good shots always end up with drool on the camera lense…
I have to wipe Harley’s mouth immediately after he drinks because otherwise…
The end is near! This past week was the week of changes and drama. Finals are creeping closer and so is the law review petition…
Oh and classes are still going on apparently. Most of my section has become impatient with classes. Here’s a rundown:
On Thursday I was the distraught 1L in computer services when my laptop suggested that OneNote had deleted ALL OF MY NOTES. Yeah. I was almost the kid howling “NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” in the study carrels. My laptop then proceeded to do this:
Unacceptable. Everything turned out alright, but I could have done without the 20 minutes of remmidemmi…
Things in the Gamma house have deteriorated ever since the trashing. The housemates are divided into two camps. People are pissed off and it is getting hard to be civil to Slovenly Housemate.
I tried really hard to be accommodating. But I’ve had to walk over too many beer bottles, pizza boxes, and Coke Zero cans. Slovenly’s friends are also annoying people and over WAY too much.
Charity stops here. I’m pissed off.2
There is going to be a contested election for house president within the next two weeks, but I’m done. I’m moving out after finals. I refuse to live in filth.
I visited an apartment building today that I’m probably going to move into. There were two apartments for rent. The first unit was a dank place on the bottom floor that rents for $575, and the second unit was a huge place on the top floor that rents for $650 a month.
The problem is that the huge apartment is…well, huge. Like, “I entertain” huge.
I’m negotiating a lease right now. We’ll see how it goes.
The building allows dogs, which is crucial. I need a canine running partner.
I arrived for the apartment showing a bit early so I stood outside of the building while talking on the phone. While I was on the phone, a lady left the apartment building with two small dogs.
I was on the phone with Jack and mentioned that the humane society has a lot of pitbulls on its website. My main concern is that a formerly abused pitbull is going to have a flashback and rip my throat out in my sleep. EXTRA: MINNEAPOLIS LAW STUDENT MAULED TO DEATH. DUMBASS ADOPTED AN ABUSED VICIOUS DOG.
Of course potential-neighbor-lady overheard this and started writing down websites where I can find non-throat-ripping dogs. She then detailed the various substance abuse3 problems of the tenants. It looks like it’s going to be an interesting experience…
This was definitely the week of changes. In addition to the apartment hunt, I gave up Splenda and started running because I signed up for a marathon. The marathon is in October, but I’m training now. My first run was 3 miles. The next morning I was so sore that I thought “OH MY GOD I BROKE MYSELF!”
I bitched at myself for a good half hour before I went back and ran 6 miles. The 6 miles were not as painful as I expected. Running is a great people-watching opportunity. The funniest thing I saw was a gay guy walking a pair of chihuahuas.
How do I know he was gay? Well, besides the Juicy Couture sweatpants he was wearing… there was also the fact that his DOGS were sporting pink camouflage hoodies. Diva please.
I had two “Diva Please” moments at bars this week because I was mistaken for a 32 year-old TWICE.
I’m actually 22. I think it’s the beard that does it.
Ah well. Age is overrated, as Sloven Housemate has proven…
1 Professor M used to string together “uh, uh, um, ers” … he never went over six in a row though. Yes, we counted.
2 I refuse to lecture someone who is OLDER THAN ME about “how NOT to be the dirty irritating housemate.” If you haven’t learned how to respect your peers by college, then you have some deep character flaw that’s not getting fixed any time before your wife serves divorce papers on you…
3 Sounds like a UMiami dorm…