A Dog's Life In The Twin Cities Part I - Victor & Roxie

One of the things that made the transition from life on the East Coast to life in the Midwest fairly easy was the fact that I moved from the dog-friendly city of Buffalo, NY to the equally dog-obsessed Twin Cities.

Roxie (pictured above) didn't join me until I had been here for a little over two weeks. In fact, she wasn't really part of the original equation. When I embarked on my two-day drive to Minneapolis in a rented SUV, my only passengers were Victor, my somewhat neurotic German Shepherd/Akita mix, and my two cats Issac and Ishmael. (We'll talk about the cats another time... right now, it's all about the dogs.) Roxie is a purebred Rottweiler, but she's small for that particular breed, only weighing in at around seventy lbs., and has the luxury of still possessing her tail, which she sometimes chases in circles when she's not beating me about my knees with it.

Roxie originally lived with my dear friend Margot in Buffalo. As far as dogs go, Roxie is a bit of a "special" case. She was originally a stray, and was taken in by Larissa, who is Margot's sons athletic trainer. Roxie had obviously lived with people at some point, but was not very trusting of them when Larissa encountered her, as she would take food that Larissa left out for her, but would not come into the house for three days. My vet here believes that from Roxie's tooth wear, she was kept in a confined space, and eventually chewed her way out, thus beginning her "life on the streets". (If anyone needs a diagram to figure all this out, e-mail me.) It turned out that Larissa couldn't keep Ms. Roxie, as she already had another dog and the two of them weren't getting along. Knowing that Margot was a board member of the Erie County SPCA, Larissa asked Margot's son if she might know someone who could take her in. At the time, Margot was technically dogless, but not really, as my dog Victor spent the vast majority of time at her house.

Phone calls were made, negotiations ensued, and Larissa brought Roxie over to meet Margot and Victor. The two dogs took to each other immediately, and involved themselves in a wrestling/tooth-sparring match, followed by a chase around the backyard, which became sort of their trademark. After a few minutes of this, Margot agreed that Little Orphan Doggie could come live with her. (I guess that would make Margot Mommy Warbucks?) Since Victor and Roxie spent so much time together over the course of the next year, as my moving date loomed closer, I began to be quite concerned about how the separation would affect the two dogs... Victor didn't spend any time at my house, unless Roxie came along with him, and when I traveled to the Twin Cities for the holidays, and Margot didn't need the hassle of BOTH dogs while she was having Christmas/Hanukkah with her family, they were sent on "vacation" to the tony Waynewood Kennels together. I left with the understanding that if for any reason Margot couldn't keep Roxie, she could come to Minneapolis to live with me. (and Victor)

The excitement of the two-day road trip, with all of it's new and different sights and smells followed by a new house kept Victor occupied, and he seemed to make the transition fairly smoothly, although the first few days I noticed he would go to the back door frequently as if he were looking for Roxie.

Speaking of Roxie...

She has an almost heartbreaking level of cuteness for a Rottweiler, which she uses to her advantage, and once she decides she likes someone, petting her starts one down a path where they eventually end up with a small Rottweiler in their lap.

If she decides she doesn't like you... well... that's another issue altogether as she will suddenly turn into a seventy-pound furry mass of fangs and attitude. Over the course of time it has been determined that certain things will trigger what I now lovingly refer to as "Roxie's Attitude Mode".

They are:

1. Strange men.

2. People seen in silhouette.

3. Small white dogs.

4. A Stranger startling her awake from a sound sleep.

5. Any combination of the above. If you are a strange man, walking a small white dog and suddenly appear in silhouette in front of Roxie startling her awake, it was nice knowing you... and your little dog too.

That leads us into how Roxie joined Victor and I here in the Twin Cities... A couple of weeks after I arrived here and was settling in, I received a phone call from Margot:

Margot: "I know you just got there, but do you remember you said you'd take Roxie if I couldn't keep her?"

Me: "Uh... yeah... did she already kill and eat someone?"

Margot: "We had a little incident."

Me: "How little?"

It turns out that Margot had an appraiser come to her house to look at something, and he had walked into the bar in her house, and turned on the light... while Roxie was asleep on the couch in the bar.

Strange man.

Strike one.

Startled Roxie awake.

Strike Two.

He was in front of the light, so she saw him in silhouette.

Strike Three.

She didn't kill the guy, but she made him feel most unwelcome. Add to that the fact that Victor was no longer present, and she felt that the protection of the house and her person was her number one job. With the amount of entertaining that Margot does, this could turn into a bad situation pretty quickly.

Me: "Of course I'll take her... how do you want to get her out here?"

Margot: "I've already talked to Charlie, he'll rent a car, drive her out there, and fly back."

Me: "Okay, when do you want to do this?"

Margot: "She'll be there Tuesday."

It was Friday.

Me: "Okaaaay... not wasting any time on this, are you?"

The following Tuesday afternoon, Roxie arrived, along with her crate and all of her toys. Victor was quite pleased, and after a few moments of tentative sniffing, the two of them were chasing each other around the yard and wrestling, as this video from Roxie's second day in Minneapolis shows:

So now, as opposed to just one dog, I now had two. This wasn't an issue, as those of you who have known me for awhile are aware of the fact that it was rare for me to have fewer than three dogs at any given time. I busied myself with installing a child gate until the cats got used to the idea of living with two dogs, one of whom could be a little rambunctious, and had never lived with cats before, and placing signs on the front and rear gates that showed a picture of a German Shepherd and read:

I CAN MAKE IT TO THE FENCE

IN 2.8 SECONDS

CAN YOU?

With one exception (that didn't happen until about a month before I moved), the signs were quite effective at keeping unwanted visitors from entering the back yard. In the old neighborhood, that wasn't exactly a bad thing, as I found out from the police not too long before I moved that there was an "undesirable" element living in an apartment complex less than a block away consisting of a group of Somali youths who had apparently seen "Boyz in the Hood" too many times, and formed a gang. We'll save those idiots for a future entry as well.

In all, both of my canine companions seem to have adapted to life in Minnesota with relative ease... I think the two of them would happy anyplace, as long as I'm there to take them on their now twice daily walks... which are a story unto themselves.

Next: A Dog's Life In The Twin Cities Part II - Why Are There So Many Little Dogs Here?

My Old Neighborhood Vs. My New One - Part II

Today's image is a 747 passing over my old neighborhood last summer. Anything else that took off or landed at Minneapolis-St. Paul airport passed over the house at a higher altitude, but the jumbos obviously needed quite a bit more room to get airborne. Regardless of the altitude, those of you who have had the opportunity to talk to me on the phone when I was out in the yard at the old house can attest to the fact that conversations had to pause about every 90 seconds during busy times at the airport.

Picking up where we left off yesterday...

I had located an affordable apartment in the MUCH better Linden Hills neighborhood (Western New Yorkers... think Bidwell Parkway), but it wouldn't be available until two weeks after I had to vacate the Windom house.

Not having built a network of friends in Minneapolis, I was looking at spending that two weeks on the street if I took the Linden Hills apartment, so I reluctantly moved that one to the back burner, and returned to craigslist.

After searching for a few minutes, I came across this:

"Kingfield near Uptown, one-bedroom, fenced back and side yards, large deck, dogs and cats okay, all utilities plus cable and internet included $750/month"

The photograph showed an approximately 4000 sq. ft. well-kept house that had been divided into a three-level triplex with one apartment on each level.

I looked at the address... it was located at 40th St. and Grand Avenue. The Kingfield neighborhood was an area I had been discouraged from looking at during my original housing search the previous year. I had been led to believe that anything north of 45th street was bad neighborhoods all the way to downtown. A look at a map of Minneapolis the previous year showed a "Martin Luther King Park" one block south and three blocks east of the location of the property in the ad.

Those of you who live in Western New York are well aware of the battlefield conditions in the neighborhood surrounding Martin Luther King Park in Buffalo.

Those of you who live in any other major metropolitan area are well aware of the battlefield conditions that surround a Martin Luther King Park in any city.

For this additional reason, and sight unseen, the Kingfield neighborhood was never even remotely considered during my initial search... Plus, "Kingfield" sounded a little too much like "Kenfield", as in Buffalo's notorious Kenfield-Langfield housing projects... in my paramedic days the gang members used to take potshots at ambulances passing through those particular subsidized housing projects.

Well... the house looks okay, so I might as well look at the neighborhood anyway.

I opened up my trusty Google Maps, entered the address and clicked on "Street View".

I twirled the photograph and saw clean yards and well kept houses all around.

I clicked to go north on Grand Avenue, and saw nice homes, clean yards...

Is that a restaurant?

It was. One that I had heard of in fact, and planned on trying, but hadn't gotten around to yet.

Half a block farther north was another restaurant that I had heard good things about (specializing in Cuban food) but hadn't had the chance to try yet.

*click*

A bakery and coffeeshop...

This might be what I've been looking for all along.

I continued to click north another three blocks before I saw my first indications of anything remotely resembling ghetto, and it was the west side of Buffalo kind of ghetto... nothing to really worry about. I realized that the Uptown neighborhood started four blocks west of the intersection I was looking at... Western New Yorkers, compare Minneapolis' Uptown neighborhood to Buffalo's Allentown neighborhood, but without the 100+ year old houses and more galleries, shops and restaurants.

I returned to the original address. Three-quarters of a mile due west were Lake Harriet and Lake Calhoun... an easy walk for the dogs and I...

I decided to look south on Grand Avenue.

*click*

More nice houses.

*click*

Another coffee shop. This one only two blocks south of my front door!

*click*

Houses...

*click*

More houses...

Four clicks later, I was looking at the intersection of Grand Avenue and 46th street... Which I noticed to my delight had not one but two more restaurants... both of which were already on my list of places to try. Best of all, one was a combination restaurant/wine bar/coffee shop!

Two blocks farther south was a park, a library, a gallery, and a bike shop.

I've seen more than enough, and fired off an e-mail to the landlord. He called me back that evening and arranged a showing for the following Saturday.

I found the place easily, and knocked on the door. The landlord was a youngish guy (29 I found out later), and owned the house with a couple of friends. He was the only one who actually lived on the property. He started showing me around, and with every step I took, I liked what I saw. He handed me a rental application, said it was just a formality to make sure I wasn't a sex offender or serial killer, and I wrote him a check the following week.

I was a little nervous. After all I had experienced some upheaval, and my original reason for being here had crashed in flames.

For the first time in a LONG time I was in a situation where I was alone, and didn't really have a plan.

After a year in Minnesota, I was going to have the chance to see what Minneapolis had to offer me, and I was going to be able to do it on my own terms.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared by the situation. What little support system I had is long gone... no one to fall back on here except me.

Although I DO realize that the "support" I had here wasn't really support. I was basically a component in someone else's plan, and once I had outlived my usefulness, I was quickly and easily discarded... sort of like tossing out a memory card or flash drive you've used for a few years that no longer serves your purposes, because there are what appear to be better flash drives and memory cards available.

From another of my past jobs as an IT guy I learned something from someone much older and wiser than me: Never throw away your old hardware because you think it's not compatible with your new system. Someone will always be willing to take that old hardware and find a place for it to serve a purpose... especially when it still works.

I'm back.

Got my old purpose and sense of self-worth back too.

Turns out I hitched my wagon to the wrong star, but that's okay. I adapt to new challenges quickly.

Like Tupac said: "You either ride with us, or collide with us."

Next: A Dog's Life In The Twin Cities

Out Of The Old, Into The New

Maybe that title is a bit misleading.

The "old" I'm talking about is only the previous 12 months here in my new home city of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

The "new" is the apartment, and neighborhood I've just moved into.

One year ago, I left my lifelong home of Buffalo, NY to come to the Upper Midwest on the promise of new work, and a different life. A chance to "settle down" as it were. The idea of living and working in the Upper Midwest, maybe even starting a family here appealed to me. I'd had the opportunity to travel here quite a few times over the previous three or four years, and as it happened, I LIKED it here. It was new, different, and safe. The opportunities available here at the time seemed numerous, and lucrative.

I had a PLAN.

Well, as we all come to realize, the best-laid plans often go awry.

I knew from my first trip out here in September, 2006 that I was going to be somewhat of a fish out of water. I had intended to spend my first year or so living and working in the beautiful Twin Cities of Minneapolis/St. Paul, and then making the jump to a small town called Granite Falls, located in rural Yellow Medicine County, approximately two and one-half hours to the Southwest. Being from densely populated Western New York, the social and cultural differences of the even MORE densely populated Twin Cities were a constant source of surprise, multiplied by a factor of ten in Granite Falls (pop. 3070).

The first (and most obvious) difference I noticed was behind the wheel. In New York (and everyplace else I've had the pleasure of living, on ramps and exit ramps for major highways are conveniently located on the right side, with your passing lanes on the left. One can only imagine my surprise and dismay when I first noticed that in some instances, exit ramps can be found on the LEFT side of the highway in your direction of travel. It made for some interesting moments at 70mph when my GPS told me I was approaching my exit, only to realize that it was three or four traffic-packed lanes to my left.

These instances were made more challenging when I learned that:

1. The driving skills of most Minnesotans are on par with a 12 year-old using the bumper cars in an amusement park.

2. Merging into traffic is a skill NOT taught in any professional driving school or high school Driver's Education course statewide.

3. When the average Minnesota driver decides to merge, they do so without looking to see if there is room for them to merge.

4. The average Minnesota driver is either unable to hear, or immune to the sounds of car horns, screeching tires, and the string of curses coming from a car occupied by someone from New York.

5. The average Minnesota driver is also unable to see the car they just nearly ran off the road, as is evidenced by their refusal to make eye contact with the crazy New Yorker they just cut off, who has pulled into the lane next to them and is now turning the air between the two cars blue with a combination of profanity, questions as to the level of their sanity, and suggestions that their closest ancestors were still at a level of evolution less advanced than Neanderthal Man.

It didn't take long for me to realize that differences between drivers were not handled the same way in Minnesota as we do in New York. Here, there is no exchange of:

Driver 1: "You cut me off asshole!"

Driver 2: "You're not paying attention shithead!"

Driver 1: "Douchebag!!"

Driver 2: "Cocksucker!!"

Driver 1: "Fuck you!!!"

Driver 2: "No, fuck YOU!!!"

Followed by an exchange of one-fingered salutes of course, at which point we continue on to our respective destinations.

Of course, being New Yorkers, especially from the Buffalo area, at some point, we'll cross paths with each other in one of that cities thousands of watering holes, recognize one another from the road incident, and spend the evening buying each other drinks while we bitch about "all those fucking idiots on the road", eventually blaming our confrontation on either "the numbnuts in front of me who slammed on his brakes for no reason", or "that hippie jerkoff in the Smartcar who cut across three lanes of traffic to get to their exit."

That first social difference leads right into the second:

The concept of "Minnesota Nice".

By definition, "Minnesota Nice" is the stereotypical behavior of long-time Minnesota residents as being "hospitable", "courteous", and "mild mannered". Stereotypes of Minnesotans often overlap with qualities of other people from the Upper Midwest, including the perception that many are quiet and do not wish to offend others or cause a disruption, even if it's for their own benefit.

What a truckload of bullshit.

Being a New Yorker, I have to call this out for exactly what it is.

"Minnesota Nice" is nothing more than a sort of smiling stubbornness, forced politeness, false humility, and passive aggressive hostility of people in the Upper Midwest region.

Writer Garrison Keillor played with this image in a piece written for the radio program A Prairie Home Companion called "Woebegonics", the supposed language of Minnesotans which includes "no confrontational verbs or statements of strong personal preference, you know." Sometimes area residents who move away, or otherwise come in contact with others who don't subscribe to the ideal, say that they have to shed their "Minnesota nice" in order to interact properly with others or get out of troublesome situations.

With the exception of the third-world driving skills, and the passive-aggressive forced politeness, (both of which I have learned to live with) Minnesota is truly a beautiful, wonderful place to call home, and I'm glad that I made the choice to stay here.

NEXT: My Old Neighborhood vs. My New One