Trials and Tribulations of an Upper West Sider (Vol.1)

I live on the Upper West Side of Manhattan, and I am the proud owner of a 1 year-old Beagle named Lord Marlybone (for short: Marly). I am lucky to live a block away from Central Park, where I can walk Marly, which allows him to roll around in the grass, eat sticks, and poop in seclusion (this is crucial). However, I almost feel that living on the Upper West, in such a pretentious area, negatively affects my dog owning experience.

Marly is a sweet boy. He would never hurt a soul. He's just a playful dog with a lazy eye. When he sees another dog coming, he lies down on the street, and waits for the dog to approach him. At this moment, he either playfully pounces, or sniffs the dog's ass. Either way, no harm intended. This is where the fucking wildin' comes in to play.

On a number of occasions, a woman will take her dog up to mine, and when Marly pounces, the woman will say to me, "Your dog tried to bite mine! Gain control of him!" Yo, fuck you. Bitch. My dog is trying to have some fun. How about you gain control of your nerves and emotions before I bite you. Hardbody. Another time, a dude was standing in front of my building with his dog, and when I tried to walk in my building, Marly lunged at his dog. The dude said, "NEVER sneak up behind another dog!" Yo, you're standing in front of my building. Get the fuck out of here before I tell my doorman to snuff you. Real talk.

Other times, people will ask me if he has his shots, or if he is going to attack. Dog owners just need to calm down. These are animals. Stop treating them like children. Maybe if these people weren't such socially inept freaks, they might have had children. Now, they have to settle for breast feeding a poodle and carrying a pooper-scooper wherever they go. It's all fucked.

Honestly...to be continued. I'm wildin'.