Saturday, March 26, 2005

The Littlest Hobo

I was getting a bit fed up with all the New York cabbies honking at me (clearly, a toy dog with 2 and 1/2 inch legs is not going to be able to cross the road as quickly as the other pedestrians), so I decided to take a break and hitchhike it upstate, on Long Island. Remind me never to do it again- or at least to wear more than a wee scarf next time. Honestly, at times I was quite afeared I was headed for the same fate as Sir Robert Scott's poor dogs back in 1912- to be found dead in the snow by another dog, torn from limb to limb, and devoured by my own kind like a particularly scrumptious piece of Battenburg cake.

I eventually made it up to Orient Point, the northernmost tip of Long Island. Yippee! I had a thirst something fierce after frolicking on the windy seashore, which I intended to quench with a tall glass of the local iced tea, but unfortunately the only licensed establishment within a 10-mile radius was closed.

By hanging onto the underside of somebody's SUV, I was able to sneak aboard the ferry to take me across the sound to New London, Connecticut. From there, it was just a quick train ride up to Boston, home to les adorable Boston terriers avec leurs squishy, pushed-in visages!

Actually, to be honest, I wasn't sure what to expect in Boston. Bands like the Scud Mountain Boys make you think that practically the whole of Massachusetts is populated by emphysemics wasting away in dead-end jobs, but then you have TV shows like Ally McBeal where everyone looks like they're from Manhattan and have gorgeous apartments.

On my way downtown from the train station, I met a chubby old Labrador Retriever eating Chinese takeaway scraps outside of the YWCA on Berkeley Street, who was of a religious bent; he told me that if I only did one thing in Boston, that thing should be to visit the statue of our patron saint, St. Francis of Assisi, in the courtyard of the Old North Church. He even said he'd take me there himself after he finished his egg foo yung. I would have been a wicked heathen to refuse such a kind offer, so off we went to pay our respects.

Apparently if you whisper your wish into Frank's ear, it will come true. Yippee! My first religious experience.


Anonymous Big Dog said...

Oh little pup! There you are! I thought we'd lost you. I hope your wish to St Frank was to get back to North London asap!

6:41 PM  
Blogger Natsthename said...

You were romping near me and didn't even say HI? Bad doggie! ;)

Love the pictures. Enjoy the rest of your holiday! (and be sure to visit the North End for some prime Italian eats! Mike's Bakery is delightful! But, alas, no Battenburg cake!)

4:05 PM  
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