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My Dog Salvy

 As Salvy nears his seventh birthday, he is shedding weight beautifully. And he had a chance to make a new friend, “Gusto,” but I (the owner) fucked things up. Gusto’s parents were throwing a dog-centric party, and they had actually invented an e-vite with striking graphic elements, and it just seemed to be too, too much. I said “no,” and I’m not sure that Salvy is ready to forgive me.


In his middle age, Salvy loves solitude and the outdoors. This is so different from the early years, when he constantly wanted a cuddle. I try to suggest that I’m OK with the change—no one has to be “one thing,” all the time, year after year—but I’m torn. I’m getting practice in wearing a brave face.


My husband and I are in New York this weekend, and we have stumbled upon Manhattan’s first exclusive Dental and Orthodontic Spa for Canines. Guess what? It’s in Tribeca. Just seeing the facade was great fun; we imagined Taylor Swift calling and requesting a teeth-bleaching session for her French bulldog. (She doesn’t have a bulldog.) Or there was that period when Madonna was paying experts to widen the gap between her front teeth? Because the gap was desirable? We could see Robert De Niro demanding a similar procedure for a pug, or a Siberian husky.


Salvy has resisted cosmetic surgery, thus far—but I’ll tell you what I always say. If it makes you feel a little better, each time you stop in front of a mirror, then what’s the harm? We support Salvy in any choice he may make, as he ponders his Act Two. We’re so very proud of him.

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