Someone once told me, "How you spend New Year's Day is how you will spend the rest of the year."
After a pleasant dinner west of Times Square I walked down 42nd Street to catch the N train at 7th Avenue. The sidewalks were crowded with revelers and the police were struggling to load a drunken overweight female onto a NYPD golf cart. Alcohol had turned her bones to Jello and she slipped from their grasp like a greased pig. I was glad that I was neither the cops or the drunk woman. Neither were starting the New Year in Paradise.
Instead of heading back to Brooklyn I rode the train to 5th Avenue and 60th Street. My boss Jeri was on holiday in Florida. Her two pugs needed company until her return. Jeri lived on Madison Avenue. The dogs and I were good friends. The doorman greeted me with a smile.
"Happy New Year."
"To you too." I had drunk wine and champagne throughout the evening. It was barely 2am. I intended on being in bed within minutes.
I entered the luxurious 12th floor apartment. The dogs, Samson and Delilah leapt from from puppy pad and howled 'Hallo' or at least it sounded like 'Hallo' to me. I cut them up an apple for treats and stripped off my suit. The dogs wanted to sleep with me.
"You got it, puppy dogs."
I lifted them into bed and joined them under the covers. I called my daughter in Thailand. It was her 11th birthday. I wished her 'Sawadee wan hurt'. Angie asked when was I coming to see her. It had been over two years.
Two tough years.
One of them working in a metal shop.
One of them hardly working at all.
"I'm coming soon," I told her in Thai. "Lak khun, luk."
I hung up the phone and laid back on the pillows.
They were softer than mine in Brooklyn.
The dogs were snoring a soft song of sleep.
I joined them within seconds.
Sleeping with dogs wasn't a bad choice to spend New Year's Day, but my real goal was to do nothing.
Nothing at all.
It was almost as easy as sleeping with dogs.