Dog Days (Literally) of Atlanta

ATLANTA, GEORGIA—It’s a summer rite of passage – visiting the relatives you never see.

No, I don’t mean the people.  I mean the puppies.

Since I’m so reluctant to leave the air conditioning, I’ve spent my trip seeing little of Atlanta beyond my cousins’ TV screen.  I’ve learned a lot about their dogs, though.  It’s strange, to visit a new city and find oneself preoccupied with a pair of fluffballs.

Griffin, the Bichon Frisé, has become an old man since I last saw him.  He will pathetically throw himself at the couch until someone gives his butt a boost.  Sophie, the coffee-colored Toy Poodle, seems as youthful as ever.  She follows me around the house, leaping at my knees.

Despite the sweltering humidity, the dogs bound through the backyard like it’s a crisp autumn morning.  I, on the other hand, thought I was going to die of excessive sweating after the five-minute walk to Moe’s Southwest Grill. Hailing from California, Moe’s was my first introduction to such gems as the “Homewrecker”, a burrito with over 20 possible ingredients including—paradoxically—tofu.

The dogs can be home-wreckers too, especially when they break the no-upstairs rule.  Sophie, for instance, crashes into doors.  Griffin has a habit of camouflaging himself in white blankets and pillows.  My uncle almost sat on him.

Above all, I’ve discovered that dogs are useful social tools.  Far more effective than mindlessly scrolling your iPhone, a dog provides endless iterations of distraction.  When conversation falters at dinner, just look down at your feet and baby talk, “Hiiiiiii, Sophie.  Aw, look at you licking your butt.  Awwwwwwwwww.”