I always thought that the day I bit the bullet, jumped on the bandwagon, or tried to immortalize myself via the interweb and started a blog, it would be about food. Food recipes I tried out, pictures of food I ate for breakfast/lunch/brunch/dinner/late nights, food I watched people eat on the subway, or about the magical food concoctions that had come to me in the middle of the night. Trust me, peanut butter, goat cheese and avocado on a bed of pasta could really catch on.
I wish.
Instead, I'm starting this blog to talk about my currently paralyzed French Bulldog, "Rooster", aka "Little Rooster", aka "Roo", aka "My Favorite Thing in the World". Sounds fun, right? Let me rewind a few days and tell you how it all began.
This past Friday, a group of my 15 closest friends and I spent the weekend at Boatel in Far Rockaway. I packed up more food than was necessary, 2 sleeping bags, 2 suitcases, 2 humans, 2 dogs and escaped living in a tiny Brooklyn apartment to live like a pirate on the high seas, otherwise known as sleeping on a docked boat at a sketchy marina. The dogs and people were excited to be there; Boats! Grilling Area! Public Restrooms! and we all
Saturday morning, my excitable French Bulldog, Rooster was acting strange. Her body was trembling as if she were cold, her mood was mopey and she didn't have much of an appetite. This is unnatural behavior for a dog that can be dead asleep at 3 am, hear a kitchen cabinet shut, and open a worm hole to instantly transport herself to my side. I assumed her lack of hunger meant she wasn't adapting to life at sea and probably had a bit of bubble guts going on. We can't all be boat people. I checked in on her throughout the day, convinced her that her food was tasty and let her lie in the sun for a bit. We all joked about sea legs, who has them, who doesn't and if you were stuck on a deserted island, what 3 movies would you bring? Clue, Sherlock Holmes and Live Free or Die Hard.
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