A Day In the Life

I Sleep In Until Noon

I am a night owl. Always have been. That is not to say I prefer to be out partying all hours of the night, it is more that I just prefer the wee hours of the early morning as my bedtime. Late night is the best time for me to just sit and exist with myself without the noise and anxiety of the daytime. Less people helps. This, unfortunately for my dog, means walks at 0300 before bed and noon walks for breakfast. He is not a night owl.

When I woke this morning just before noon I started my day with a hot cup of coffee. Shout out to The Gorgeous Blonde for always having one ready when she hears me stirring. As I sit there, cup in hand, pondering what I did to be forced to exist on this ungodly plane for another day Dexter usually goes to his bowl of food, let’s out a huff of disappointment, and then spends the rest of the morning trying to bore a hole into my head with his death stare. Eventually, the bean juice does its magic and I remember that life is good and I am surrounded by a beautiful wife and an adorable dog in a breath-taking city so maybe I should stop being a little bitch and go put on my pants.

At this point Dexter does his happy dance because he knows what’s coming. I get dressed for the day, strap on his harness, grab some poop bags, and off we go.

Side note: yesterday I did all of this but off I went without him. I almost had the door closed behind me before I realized I didn’t have a dog to walk on this particular dog walk. This is why coffee first is a must.

Anyway, we head out, down the stairs, and leave the building. I always let Dexter decide which direction we head once we are outside. We can go right, down Rue Michel Ange; left down Rue Varize, or straight ahead past La Garçonierre.

This morning he chose straight so we headed onwards towards his favorite park in Auteil.1 Once we get to the park his step always quickens. He really has learned this city – or at least, his part of this city.

So we meandered through the park and met all the other dogs, sniffed all the smelly things and soaked in the sun.

We left the park and, under protest from Dexter, we headed towards my favorite bridge in the city: Pont Mirabeau. I cannot explain why I love this bridge so much more than all the others. It’s not necessarily the most beautiful, or the most historically relevant. It doesn’t have the best view of all the bridges either. It just… it’s the most me bridge of all the bridges. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

I don’t think Dexter has a favorite bridge. I know he hates being on any of them when it is particularly windy. Fortunately, today was mild so he was able to enjoy sniffing all the doggy marked spots along the bridge. And, oh my god, there are a lot.

Did you know that the Montgolfier brothers took to flight in a hot air balloon over 200 years before the Wright brothers ever lifted off at Kittyhawk?2 Dexter was unimpressed with the balloon as we passed it on our way back home along the Seine. If it does not fit in his mouth it is not a ball worth his time, apparently.

How many of you said, “that’s what she said?’“

As we crossed back over the Seine on Pont Garigliano – the bridge closest to our apartment – I met an elderly lady who asked for help taking a photo. She spoke no English and I still speak embarrassingly little French, but I was able to surmise that she was arthritic and couldn’t get the photo off the bridge that she wanted so I took it for her. She seemed pleased and I was happy to help.

We meandered the rest of the way home for another twenty minutes or so. Once we got home Dexter drank up lots of water, curled up on the couch, and is now dreaming of, well, probably walking around in Paris.

Postscript – in the midst of slapping this together on my keyboard my wife got up to make herself a little something for a late lunch. “Did you finish the bread (baguette)?” I did. So I got up and walked to the boulangerie (bakery) and got two more. Walking back I did that most French of things and nibbled off a bit at the end of one of the baguettes. There really is nothing tastier than fresh made baguette while walking in Paris.