On a slushy, wet New Year’s Day, Mimi visits Lake Frontenac. She’s wearing booties which is always hilarious and humiliating. I feel that booties really confirm the fact that life in a city like Toronto is very different than life in “the country.” And by country, I mean not a large urban centre. My dog from a previous life never wore booties and every fiber of my being did not want to get booties for Mimi. In downtown Toronto, dogs with booties are as prevalent as bourgeois kids pretending to be poor (from this point on, I will use the term “bougie” as a catch all when referring to those people). Point is, me and Mimi hate booties.
Once we arrive at the lake I proceed to let Mimi off her leash. Once released, she heads directly for a stick. Mimi loves sticks. Big sticks, little sticks, sticks that are really broken tree branches, they are all fair game. Within about 10 seconds a piece of a very small stick is lodged in the roof of her mouth. Not only does she not come to me for help but she actively resists my aid. I do manage to get it out and Mimi spends the rest of the time prancing (yes, prancing) around the snow carrying a very large stick in her mouth. She really really loves prancing around with sticks. Much of my time is spent monitoring the booties. Are they going to fly off? (yes). Will I be pissed if I lose one? (yes). I notice that Mimi (despite her stick-fueled joy) is shivering and it hits me…I need to get her a jacket. God. What have I become?
Everything about this feels wrong.
