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Posts Tagged ‘Eastie’

phoenix dog sidewalk

Fall has come to Boston, and I’m dog-sitting again for my friend Carolyn, who is now also my neighbor. I spent several weeks at her house this spring, taking care of Phoenix the golden doodle pup, and I’m happily spending the second half of September hanging out with him again.

The alarm goes off in the morning, and I stretch and hit snooze and turn to look out the windows at the park, where the leaves are just starting to turn. As soon as my feet hit the floor, Phoenix starts scratching at the door of his crate: if I’m up, he wants to be up. But when I get out of the shower, I usually find him curled up on the bed, often next to my pillow. Sometimes he’ll wave a paw, asking for some extra pets or snuggles, and I usually comply. (He knows I’m a softie.)

I get dressed, blow-dry my hair, grab a banana for me and some treats for Phoenix, and clip his red leash to his collar. We head downstairs and out the door, taking the same route most mornings: down the street, around the corner and back up the hill.

Sometimes we run into a friend, or a small child excited to see a doggie. Sometimes we both stop to smell the flowers (though Phoenix also likes to smell everything else). He trots along happily, plumy tail waving, and does his business, and I give him treats and take deep breaths of fresh air. I drop him back off at home, feed him breakfast, and head to the train to go to work.

It’s a simple morning ritual, and I love it: scratching him behind the ears as he wanders around the bedroom, watching him wag frantically at other pups, giving him those extra cuddles, stretching our legs together. His little joyful presence is good medicine, these days. And I’m grateful.

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I’ve been in my new place for almost a month (how is that possible?), and it’s gradually looking and feeling like home. It’s not quite “done” yet, but we’re a long way from the initial wilderness of boxes and also the half-done state I lived in for a couple of weeks. I’m hoping for many more happy days here, but I want to remember what this first stage has been like.

The first few weeks in the new apartment have sounded like foghorns blowing over the harbor. This is the first place I’ve lived in Boston where I can’t hear the train, but I’ve traded it for the jingles and barks of neighborhood dogs, the particular creaks of this wide-plank wood floor, and those ships making their presence known.

These first few weeks have looked like a crazy mix of old and new: the dressers and bed frame I’ve had for years, with new living room furniture and four bookshelves lining one brick wall. I have a new red kettle, an old bookshelf repurposed as a bedside shelf, the stereo I’ve had since college and beloved books in a totally new arrangement. The neighborhood itself was familiar from my dog-sitting adventures this spring, but I’m learning it in a different way now.

I haven’t done much “real” cooking this summer, but these weeks have tasted like sourdough toast with butter and strawberry jam, Greek yogurt and granola in the same brown bowl every morning, and cup after cup of ginger peach tea. In the evenings, they’ve tasted like huevos or gazpacho or tacos from the Cactus Grill in Maverick Square. And sometimes, a few sips of rosé and a few spoonfuls of Ben & Jerry’s raspberry-lemon sorbet.

Since my new place looks out on the harbor, these weeks have smelled like salt and sunshine, wild Irish roses growing in the neighbors’ yard, the scent of barbecued meat drifting down the street. They’ve smelled like a lemon-rosemary candle and the clean scent of dish soap.

These first few weeks have felt like new sheets on bare skin, a cooling breeze coming in off the harbor after a hot humid day, sore muscles after lugging boxes up and down stairs and building furniture. These weeks have felt like retuning my body to a new space, reaching for different light switches and stove burners, finding the new ways this space already fits me.

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