"Ummmm, sorry, he was just playing with those people over there-" I motioned toward some rando's behind me on the W's pool deck, "I don't even know what happened!" I knew I could not defend my carelessness by saying I had to have a pressing conversation with Jen about which new running shoes to purchase.
Apparently, the security guards at the W had picked him up and dropped him off promptly in her arms. What she did not understand was that I had already kindred-ly connected with the dog; in so many bodily gestures, he had said to me: fuck off, Melissa.
So, like any agreeable person, I had let him carouse around the pool deck as any little dandy likes to do on a Tuesday afternoon. Though the little fucker and I have not had a ton of time to connect and bond, I felt like we were getting along fabulously during this fine afternoon at the pool.
For starters, we had a lot in common. Namely, we both like to party. Yes, Noreen's 3 month old puppy is, so to speak, a bit of a booze hound, in the most literal sense. And by booze hound I do not mean that anyone was shoving a natty light in its face frat style. No, the little bugger was basically trying to get blitzed by tipping random cups of cocktails and sipping some sangria. I am not going to lie, I was just a little bit impressed. I meannnn, even though he did get caught trying to snag some loser's mai tai, he almost got a pull out of it. Oh, and he had perseverence. After I snagged Noreen's vodka soda from his dog lips, he bopped to sip the sangria of the 50+ New Yorker who had been annoying us all afternoon with his chauvanist commentary. On more than one occasion, this dinosaur stated that both of us would not have careers and would be staying at home to raise children. He was sunburned, fat and had a really annoying accent. Dinosaur was also not buying us drinks. If you are not going to serve it, then please don't dish it out, sir. Anyhow, if the dog's health and sobriety had not been at odds, I would have fully encouraged Oliver to ravish that asshole's drink.
After several hours at the pool, we were gathering our belongings to leave when Noreen casually mentioned a fear that her dog might be blind. I had not seen the dog run into any chairs and had seen it stalking out opportunities to nip the bottle so, at this point, I had very little concern that it might be blind. Booze hound? yes. Blind hound? negative.
Anyhow, her irrelevant paranoia only inspired me to act like a jerk. As we were exiting, Ollie was bumbing around at some man's feet by the doors. Clearly, Ollister was pretty slammed after accruing about 3 sips of vodka in his 3 pound body. . This man had decided to engage Noreen in small talk about her pooch, as had about 23 other people on the pool deck that day.
I looked at the man and said, "Isn't it great she adopted a special needs dog?" Then i went on to explain how he was legally blind. I don't understand why this man was dumb enough not to question me or if he really just didn't care.
"Wow," he replied, "well i guess that explains why he seems to run into things a lot!" I smiled fondly on our little special needs dog, "Yeah," I said. What a dipshit- clearly he had no idea what a drunk dog looks like. I mean, I guess I had not either until now.
We decended the steps to the front of the hotel where Noreen's boyfriend was going to pick us up and take us to dinner. She looked at me, "That was bad karma, Melissa." I shrugged, and watched the dog try to sober up while drinking warm water out of a dog bowl outside of the hotel.
"Bad karma in what sense? Do you mean i'm going to get a blind dog or have a blind baby?" I did feel a little bad: I actually liked the little freak a lot more than I had expected to and he could hold his own amongst poolside pricks. Like I said before, we truly had a kindred connection. I also was beginning to realize that dogs that are too small to shit might not be so bad.
Once inside her boyfriend's car, we contemplated where we could go to dinner while accompanied by booze hound. Sadly, we were turned away at many a venue as booze hound's presence could potentially ruin the ambiance.
"No room at the inn, " I muttered under my breath as we crossed the street to Saddle Ranch which obviously had to accept him as they accept so many degenerates that a small dog was hardly an issue.
Once seated, I decided to mention that I had told someone the dog was special needs. Noreen's boyfriend was not remotely amused so I decided not to push the bill and try to convince the waitress.
Booze Hound, in the mean time, had already whored himself out to some woman at a nearby table. I looked over at him and I swear he winked at me. Or maybe he was just eyeing my vodka soda.
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