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Meredith C. Carroll: Aspen missed connections — dog edition

Meredith C. Carroll
Muck Off
Meredith Carroll
Courtesy photo

We canoodled in early spring at Heron Park. Now I have a litter of canoodles (or whatever the American Kennel Club calls a Catahoula leopard dog mixed with whatever kind of ’doodle you are). Come and get ’em, Daddio. Or at least some of ’em (sextuplets run in my family).

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To the spritely coyote on the golf course that I was dragged away from by the people who adopted me and whose ear wax I regularly lick yet refuse me every opportunity to engage in interspecies play: It’s not you, it’s me (although I actually might go with my people on this one and say it is, in fact, you).



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You: a fake emotional support dog carried everywhere in a purse by the type of person who clearly leads others to need a real emotional support dog. Me: your dog in shining armor (OK, technically it’s a cone from some recent work I had done, but still, it is shiny). Let’s scratch each other’s backs (for real, mine is so itchy).




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Our gaze met across cages at the groomer. I howled pitifully but only because the pain of having my anal glands expressed was barely second to the time a boxer bit a decent-sized chunk out of my ear. You pick a meet-up spot free from latex gloves, opposable thumbs and stupidly large cuspids and I’ll be waiting.

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I enjoy long walks on the banks of yellow snow and softly licking my genitals on the couch. ISO the dog who keeps pooping some mixture of stuffed animal stuffing and expired Thanksgiving stuffing. Seriously, you really should seek medical help.

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To the feisty Yorkshire terrier that was yipping it up while tied outside the post office: Let me tie you up next time and really give you something to yelp about. Hubba hubba.

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We sniffed each other’s butts and pawed at my ball at Rio Grande Park the other day at noon. You ultimately took off after a Newfoundland with a bigger ball. Mine may be smaller, but it’s bouncier. I don’t know why but I just needed you to know that.

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To the golden puppy who jumped on my person’s tiny new person on the Hyman Avenue Mall: Your wagging tail radiates sparkles and rainbows and your breath is reminiscent of an angel’s sigh. I know you were just saying hi, but just say it again near me and the next “hi” you utter after that will be to the angel you’ll meet when crossing over the rainbow bridge. Do we understand each other?

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To the Bichon Frise outside the St. Regis whose poop was stepped in by that lady who didn’t tip the valet: Nice job. Contact me if you’re available for future assignments, specifically during Christmas week (and especially near the gondola).

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I was having fun with you on Smuggler when I bit a little too hard on your face. Hopefully it hurt your person more than you (which I’m guessing it did based on the duration of their scream). Let’s run down the steep hillside again soon and find that vole together. Bonus points if you know what to do once we catch it.

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There are good boys all around. I’m looking for the bad boy running more than one block down West Hopkins Avenue You go with your bad self and then come back and see me sometime, stud.

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I barked confusedly at you while I was tied up outside the museum; you seemed like a masterpiece that belonged inside. Let’s pee artfully together on a sculpture in the West End.

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Can a decorated show dog and a rescue find their happily ever after together? Probably not, although maybe in Aspen (and only in Aspen, TBH). If watching me prance up Mill Street with enviable regality the other day made your Lucky Day, meet me once (although I’m open to more) upon a time behind the marble statue in Pioneer Park. We’ll write our own fairy tail. 😉

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I am an Instagram influencer whose photo was once featured in a slideshow on Ellen Degeneres’ website. The most recent picture I could find of you online is from a party last summer at the animal shelter. I’m up for the occasional rendez vous so long as you sign an NDA.

Follow Meredith Carroll on Twitter @MCCarroll. More at MeredithCarroll.com.