It was late one night in July 2003, after many martinis at Musso & Franks and much laughter with my friend Heather Morgan, I was walking home to my apartment in Hollywood. When I made a turn to my street off Hollywood Blvd. there was much commotion, police cars, fire engines and a little black dog with a floppy ear running around. A man was being arrested and being put into the back seat of the patrol car. At that time I was living in a Hollywood studio apartment with 3 cats (had to learn how cat flaps work) and ending a 2 year stint as a personal assistant for a well-known celebrity dog trainer.
I remember standing on the corner
and looking at the dog and realizing he was with the man being arrested and something just took hold. It was as if my mother’s “pick up every stray
dog in the world” gene kicked in, the one I had managed to dodge my entire life. I went up to the officer, gave him my business card and asked if I could take the dog. He agreed. At this point, the little dog jumped into the patrol car and was laying on the man’s lap. The man was
in bad shape, sputtering nonsense and obviously had been on the streets. I gave him my card and told him I would take care of his dog and to call me when he was out of trouble. An office came with a restraining leash, put it on the dog and we both got out. The man looked at me and said, “His name is Mr. Moon”.
And away they went, flashing red and blue lights, leaving me in the middle of the street with the little black dog with the floppy ear. I looked at Mr. Moon and I thought, “Now what?”
We both sighed.