I just read a short article about Tatum O'Neal's latest arrest for cocaine possession. She expressed gratitude to the cops who caught her just in time, because she ended up not using the coke. "I'm still sober," she said "thanks to the guys of the Seventh Precinct." She explained she had sought out the drugs because she was sad over the death of her 16 year old Scottish terrier.
Why am I babbling about this? Why am I drawn to this story? No, Tatum O'Neal and I were not best friends or anything. I was, however, quite good friends with the dog. Seriously. Lena and I shared a half hour in the park five days a week for over a year, when I was her walker. I found her and her owner both quite lovely. Obviously I didn't see much of Tatum (which is how she introduced herself to me, I'm not just being pretentious) after the initial meeting, but my handful of encounters with her were always very sweet. I know it's silly, but I feel somehow connected to this story, albeit very slightly. I'm sorry to know that little Lena is dead. And it freaks me out to realize that was all ten years ago. Lena was only six when I was walking her, still very much in her prime.
I hope Tatum is okay. I think she's a good egg. And I totally understand grief for the loss of a pet making you do ill-advised things.
New York is SUCH a weird place.
If you're interested, go here and here for other examples of my random New York life.