Dog-Blogging: Gorbachev Comes to Nolita

My life after trading has found itself slowly drifting further and further away from my life on a trading floor. First it was nomadic travel, then business school, then financial media, and now it's pursuing startup dreams.

My current daily existence is now on the absolute opposite end of the spectrum as the trading life: I sit at home in front of my computer, usually in solitude (sometimes with my cofounder). Contrast that to the daily stimulus of being surrounded by hundreds of hypersocial individuals on a trading floor.

What's the obvious outcome of this major environmental transition?

I got a puppy.

I grew up with a dog (RIP Cleo Roy) and getting another one was always in the back of my mind. Living in NYC makes it a bit difficult as the costs are large and the apartments are small. As I plan on working out of my apartment over the next few months, I figured this was the most logical time ever to get a puppy. That, or talking to myself was becoming a chore.

Gorby is a Miniature Australian Shepherd. I named him after Gorbachev because he's got a noticeable birthmark (though on his nose and not his forehead). Admittedly, it's a bit dorky, but a few people who've met him got the reference instantly and loved it. A few people around my age awkwardly admitted not knowing who Gorbachev was.

There's a tremendous dog scene in NYC. I feel like I just took the red pill in the Matrix and now see an entire world that I was previously blind to. All around me people are walking dogs, socializing with other dog owners, or even petting other people's dogs. I never noticed any of it before.



Then there's the Manhattan-y side to being a dog owner. There are "Dog Runs" all over the city: little dog parks within larger parks for dogs to run freely and play with other dogs. The other day I noticed one just a few blocks from my apartment that amazingly had dog toys just sitting around everywhere and looked extremely clean (things that don't normally happen in NYC).

Gorby getting schooled at the dog run

I walked over with Gorby and saw a locked gate. I asked the one lady in there how to get in and she informed me, "it's a members park and you get a key". I asked her how much it was and she let me know it was $50 for the year. For a full year I actually thought this might be worth it (Warning Sign #1). 

Then came the absurd part: "Just to let you know, there's an application process and there's currently a waitlist. Your dog's so beautiful...I hope you get in."

Yes, an application process and waitlist. Years back, I helped a boss who wasn't a native English speaker write essays for his five year old's application for a posh, private elementary school. Not only would they interview his daughter, they apparently would interview him. I thought it was ludicrous and swore to never be part of such establishments.

(Cue Warning Sign #2, Red Alert) 

The first thought that crossed my mind after hearing about the dog park application process: Well, my dog is totally good enough to get in.

I think I've just accepted I can't ever raise kids in Manhattan.