Where Do They Go?

I wonder where they go.

Every morning, I open my eyes and think: maybe today, she'll stay. I wake up my mom by fanning hot breath on her face while wagging my tail, giving her my puppy eyes. She gives me my breakfast and we spend a couple minutes in silence — her at the table with a cappuccino and banana bread, and me under her chair, hoping for crumbs. After that, I am on a mission to follow her everywhere. First, the bathroom, where I tolerate the steam of the shower to make sure she’s safe. Then, the closet, becoming her personal stylist while she searches to find a good shirt: just a white, or sometimes light blue, button-up shirt.

She grabs her bag, stuffs her laptop and some papers in, and then hunts down a pair of heels and her brown coat. As she takes hold of her headphones, she leaves the bag on the floor and takes my leash instead. My tail starts wagging uncontrollably, and I can’t help but bark for excitement. The red collar ties around my neck, and I grab the leash by my mouth, following her out the door. We always go around the block: I say hi to my friends, pee near signs that say “curb your dog”, and sniff everything I can while passers-by drown me in compliments. Just the usual for me. After a final sniff near the bakery on the corner, we head back toward the building. At the sight of it, I frantically guide my mom to it in case she forgot where we live, often choking on my collar. Upon reaching the 18th floor, mom cleans my paws with a wet wipe — so futile.

While I go find my favorite tennis ball to play with, I notice mom didn’t take her shoes off. Instead, she grabs her bag off the floor, and puts it around her shoulder. As I stare at her with an open mouth, the ball drops. She blows me a kiss, and assures me she’ll be home soon. Seconds pass, then minutes, and hours. Where do they go? I even talked this over with my trusted friend, Tally, from the 19th floor, and he revealed his mom does the same thing! I mean, moms disappear for hours every single day, without telling us anything, and then come back home to act as if nothing ever happened.

As I was reflecting on how to end this madness, I heard the elevator doors open outside and footsteps approaching my apartment. With hopeful eyes I ran to the door — and there was mom. I started jumping on her, letting out a couple of welcoming barks. She petted my soft curls and quickly grabbed her glasses from the coffee table, shoving them in her bag, and then left in a hurry. Of course. She just forgot something. Today isn’t different.

When mom is gone, I spend most of my time taking naps on the couch; sometimes I go on the “forbidden” bed, leaving paw prints to make her mad. I play with my toys, make a mess, and sometimes eat the floor plants (but only when I’m really hungry). Some days, I like to visit Tally, since he lives in the apartment above mine. I rear up on my hind legs and open my front door, trot to the elevator, and after checking out my blonde curls in the mirror (always looking good), I press 19 with my paw. I open Tally’s door without warning, also because being a frenchie, he couldn’t reach the doorknob.

Here in New York, it’s common practice to leave front doors unlocked, because the doormen downstairs are very strict on who gets to enter the building, so everyone feels safe enough. Thankfully I’m part of the VIPs, those who never get denied. Mom tells me it’s because I’m a Very Important Pet.

By the time the sun moved across the couch and my bowl was still empty, I decided it was time to investigate. I went up to Tally’s. He started furiously barking as he heard the front door open, curious to see who the intruder was. When he saw me, the barking ceased. After playing together for a bit, we got to talking about our moms’ behaviors…

​​“Where do they go?” I asked Tally, sniffing his ear.

“Mine disappears too,” he said. “Sometimes she comes back smelling like the vet.”

They were gone from 8:30 to 6:00. Tally’s mom would sometimes come home 30 minutes later. We wanted to know where they went. We wanted to uncover their secret. Our moms confided in us all their secrets: I find myself mad at circa 8 different New York men currently. There was Major, the jerk who asked her out to Nobu and then pulled the “I forgot my wallet” move. Miles, too shy. Michael, perfect for the first few months, but then got distant when he realized he didn’t have the balls for something serious — I offered him my tennis balls, but he couldn’t accept. The other 5 are just as irrelevant. Maybe the letter ‘M’ was the issue. But this… this was worse than Major and Michael, because she couldn’t even tell me.

I got back home, and took a nap. After what felt like forever, mom came home, and she looked exhausted. As I wondered what got her so tired, she gave me some cuddles, and we went out for a walk. Whenever we walked past Madison Avenue, I knew we were going to the park. Mom never goes out that far unless it’s for that reason.

Central Park in the fall is my favorite; the weather is perfect, with a light breeze that isn’t too strong, dark yellow leaves (I see them yellow all year round), and filled with other dogs and little kids. Mom brings me to the park every two weeks or so, when she thinks I get too stressed being in the apartment all the time.

After our walk, we came home, and I curled up by her feet. I felt like things were back to normal.

The next day, our morning was the same.

Right before leaving the house, I noticed mom brought her bag with her. That was strange, she always just leaves it home and grabs it after dropping me off. As we were exiting the building, mom took a different route. We were going in the direction of something I rarely take: the subway. I was shocked. Could mom read my mind? Did she know I wanted to know? Was she about to reveal her secret to me?

I was scared and excited at the same time. We got to the downtown platform of the 6 train and rode from 86th Street to Grand Central at 42nd. I’d never been inside the station, I only saw it on mom’s favorite TV show: Gossip Girl.

Walking the streets of midtown in the morning was chaotic. I didn’t see any friends around, just suited-up men with a coffee in their hands, and businessy-looking women who needed green tea eye patches.

Mom led us to a tall building. She needed a badge to enter — it looked so secretive and mysterious. Upon reaching the 37th floor, mom used her badge again to enter a glass-doored studio. It looked regular and boring, white and grey, with rows of desks. Mom told me to sit close to one that had her name on it, as she greeted some desk-buddies. They were getting closer to me, telling me how cute I was in their annoying baby voice. That, I know. What I really wanted them to tell me was who they were, and what they were doing to my mom.

I saw many other dogs under the desks. As I was wondering where we were, I heard mom say it was “pet day” at the “office”. I don’t know what an office is, but I was going to find out today.

Throughout the morning, mom kept typing on her computer and filling Google Sheets with big values. She spent hours just doing that. I fell asleep to the sound of all the office keyboards typing — it was soothing. I woke up to the smell of seasoned chicken and tomatoes. Mom put some food into a bowl and gave it to me as well.

The afternoon was the exact same. I’d perk up when I heard voices or the sound of phone calls or meetings… and then drooped again once I realized it was just another boring conversation. I watched her closely, waiting for the moment the mystery would reveal itself, maybe a secret tunnel, or a magic treat machine. Nothing happened.

This was it? The big mystery? A gray room full of chairs and sad chicken salads? I thought maybe she had a second home, or was digging for treasure. But she just… typed. And typed. And typed.

The ride home was long, and I couldn’t wait to be on the couch, with the TV on, eyes closed, back scratched and massaged. I’m glad today’s over — and even more glad it was just a one-day thing. Now I just have to tell Tally how irrelevant their “big secret” really is. Honestly, I get why she kept it to herself… and even more honestly, she should’ve.