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A note from a non-dog owner

Let me start by saying I like dogs. In our condo building, there are lots of dogs. I’m pretty sure they outnumber the cats and they may tie with the number of humans in the building. Someday, I’ll have a dog but not while we live on the fourth floor of a condo building downtown. I know enough about dog ownership to know there’s logistics involved—a dog’s got to go several times a day regardless of the weather. And there’s not a ton of grassy patches in our ‘hood.

Because of those logistics, I’m surprised at the number of city canines I see. Day after day, there they are: dedicated dog owners who get up early, don warm clothes, hats, gloves, shoes, umbrella in hand, and they herd the dog down the stairs and out the front door. They walk the dog a block or two while it sniffs out a satisfactory spot to squat, the owner picks up the remnants, and together the duo walks back home. And much like the Postal Service, this happens in rain, sleet, snow or heat.

I can’t see myself doing that two or three times a day. Every day.

There are some cute, well-behaved dogs in our building, thanks to considerate owners. And then there are some neighbors who think it’s OK (and cute!) to let their dog jump on me while I’m getting the mail. (Hint: Not OK. I don’t know you. I don’t know your dog. Get it off of me.) And then there are others who think it’s OK to let their dog poop where ever it pleases—sidewalk, parking garage—and they don’t pick it up. Note to said owners: This is gross and unsanitary. Pick it up.

Despite all the joy dogs bring into peoples’ lives—wet noses, wagging tails, non-judgmental and unconditional love—for now, I prefer my low-maintenance city kitty. Even if she is secretly, silently judging me and plotting to kill me.



Loft parts

When people look up at the far-reaching corners of the concrete ceiling and then look down 14 feet to the dustball-ridden concrete floor, they notice our home doesn’t have the features associated with a typical home. It’s not located in a cul-de-sac. There’s no yard. It doesn’t have wall-to-wall carpet. And there’s no hardwood floors. One of the bedrooms doesn’t have a door—or four walls. Our windows are 10 feet tall and don’t have screens on them. But, despite the industrial characteristics, our home does give a slight nod to traditionalism. We have mini blinds.

Mini blinds aside, here are some of the non-traditional pieces that make up our cozy home.

{Our large-ish windows}

{Ductwork, water pipes and the concrete ceiling}

{Polished concrete floor and exposed brick wall}

{A few rooms are sans door}

{Concrete pillar wrapped in metal plating kept forklifts from knocking everything down}

{Cat not included}

We once heard a story that our loft building was constructed during Word War I to store weapons and machinery. After that it was probably used as warehouse space. It’s odd to imagine someone driving a forklift around in our living room. Traces of the building’s past still show themselves in the forklift lines painted on the floor or in the pillars wrapped in sheet metal, but to us it’s simply our home.

It’s a concrete jungle out there

In the depths of the city’s dark street corners, things lurk. And I’m not talking about dead leaves, cigarette butts, or people. There’s a surprising abundance of wildlife in the middle of the metro area. Even when the nearest spot of grass is two blocks over, a small population of wildlife scrapes by on whatever it can scavenge. Here’s what I’ve spotted while living in the city:

Spider. OK, this isn’t that strange. There’s really no hiding from spiders, wherever you live. But what made this particular sighting stunning was the sheer size of the hairy beast. It must’ve been someone’s pet tarantula on the lam.

{ The hairy beast. So glad I didn't step on it. }

Raccoon. As we arrived home at a very late (or was it a very early?) hour, a little masked bandit rambled across Broadway, just a block from our loft. It was strange to see it scuttle across the street and then between two skyscrapers—raccoons seem like they’d more of a suburban critter.

Eagles. Our condo has a view of the Missouri River, and it’s not unusual to see bald or golden eagles effortlessly gliding among the clouds on a sunny afternoon, following the river’s path.

Bats. I used to live in a midtown apartment that overlooked a historic cemetery, just minutes from downtown. Every night around dusk, hordes of bats would emerge and devour every bug within sight. It was a pretty spectacular show.

Deer. I have seen a deer downtown. Unfortunately, it was along the side of the interstate and it was no longer having happy deer thoughts.

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