As is well-documented here, I love taking walks with both the boys. What used to be a chore is now my favorite way to kill time during the day, a nice break from running around the house pulling Carter away from light sockets and making him stop drinking the cleaning products. The one part of it that still is a chore, however, is coming back inside.

My building has a doorman. I feel bad for complaining about this, because the three regualar guys are great; nice, friendly, helpful, and they even buy treats for the many dogs in the building. This is part of the problem. Bootsy is living proof of Pavlov’s experiments. Every time we come inside, he starts drooling and runs for the security desk. Even if the guys are out of treats, he sits beside them and waits until I drag him away. This whole ritual takes forever, because Bootsy is the slowest-eating dog in the world. I swear, when most dogs snarf down a milk bone in one swallow, Bootsy takes bites, like he wishes he had silverware. Now of course with Carter, the whole process becomes that much longer, as everybody needs to give him high fives, jingle keys in his face, and insist on helping me through the door. But I’ve become so good manning the leash and the stroller now, and so tired of this little dance, that I wish they’d just give me a wave and buzz me through. I know, I’m an ingrate.

I saw a chance to short-circuit the routine today. Some neighbors were coming inside before me, and the doorman was already holding the door. I fell in step, determined to shoot right through with them. But as I passed the desk, the doorman ran to get a treat for Bootsy, stopping him cold in a puddle of slobber. The leash was still wound around my wrist, so I jerked backwards and let go of the stroller. Meanwhile, the helpful neighbor saw what happened, held the door, and pulled stroller through. By the time I finished dragging Bootsy away and thanking the doorman, I turned around and Carter was gone. I panicked for half a second until I realized he’d just pulled the stroller into the elevator lobby.

I’m not neurotic about Carter, but I’m not a complete pushover either. I didn’t say anything to the people who made off with my kid–even for just five feet–when I don’t even know their names, but I think next time I’m going to make sure I keep a firm grasp of both dog and stroller.