Teetotaling: An Essay on Restraint

All of you real child parents are going to roll your eyes at yet another child-puppy comparison but you are going to have to bear with me. As a puppy-momma and not a baby-momma (knock on wood and fingers crossed for that remaining my reality), I have no choice but to compare my furry situation to yours. Whatever. All parents know that there is no greater gift in the world than a visit from the grandparents. The elusive but highly prized grandparent visit provides even puppy parents with the wonders of free day care, extra puppy training, and date night.

Enter Gmom and Boompa, the homeless wanderers who came all the way from Jackson, Wyoming to meet their granddog.

And to go to the pubs, of course.

They met Moose during a rare moment of Moosey good behavior, and fell in love with our little angel. "Remember," they said, "he IS just a typical puppy. He's really very sweet." "Aha," said I. "He is only tricking you into complacency so later he can bite your toes, attack your computer cable, and walk off with your shoes (which he will then hide under the table and demolish, like a bully who has stolen your school lunch)."

The denying grandparents spent their first day on Moose duty, happily doting on their newest grandpuppy and teaching him new tricks, like how to manipulate his way into yet another snack. They also met me at the Red Cow (Pub #1) for a lunchtime sharpener (as Matthew's boss refers to a workday pint) and then the White Horse (Pub #2), which stands only about 300 feet from our house, for dinner. Did I tell you that I love hanging out with Gmom and Boompa?

Their second day in town saw two major revelations: Gmom and Boompa were introduced to Richmond Park and Moose was introduced to the largest needle either of us has ever seen. Moose's final puppy vaccinations were administered that day, and with those came the dreaded microchip, which was injected into the flesh behind his shoulder blades with a needle as big as, I shit you not, a knitting needle. I mean, this thing was MASSIVE and would have had me hiding in the woods somewhere and refusing to come out. Not that I have ever done that or anything...

Naturally, Moose wanted to sleep all afternoon so we took advantage of his early morning stabbing and went to Richmond Park. We saw deer. And then Gmom had to pee so we went to find the loo. We saw trees. And then Gmom had to pee so we went to find the loo. We saw ponds, cranes, and a looming rainstorm. And then Gmom had to pee so we gave up on the park and went to find the pub (The Dysart Arms, Pub #3 and honestly the least comfortable pub in the entire world).

It was still raining after the weirdo pub visit (I mean, really, what kind of a pub doesn't serve crisps? Or nuts?), Matthew had to run off to Claygate to do something musical and intelligent, so we did the thing that comes most naturally to us. We went to the Marlborough (Pub #4) for dinner. Yum. We also stole a pint glass, but you didn't hear that from me.

Of course, after all that pubbing, Gmom once again had to pee. So you don't have to have much of an imagination to deduce that we found toilet relief (not to mention a couple of pints) at the White Cross (Pub #5), which sits in an ideal location right on the Thames.

The third day of their visit was...oh God, I don't remember most of it. I think we probably played with Moose. I may have had some coffee. I know we went to Borough Market. And then Matthew and I went wine tasting for three hours while Gmom and Boompa went back to Richmond to liberate the Moose from his Moosery. Very kind of them.

After the wine tasting, Matthew and I (in the company of one of Matthew's brothers and his wife) ended up at another pub (Pub #6). Meanwhile, Gmom and Boompa ended up at one called the Mad Hatter (also Pub #6). Somewhere in there we had dinner, somewhere in there we went to another pub (Pub #7), and somewhere in there I may or may not have started singing and giggling on the train.

Day four was a day of penance. Once again, poor little Moose spent the day in jail while we collectively paid for our sins in a church marathon. We gathered at St John the Divine to hear Matthew play the organ at the service (and to whisper gossip about the congregants). Later, we gathered at St Paul's Covent Garden to hear Matthew play the organ for the Evensong service (and to sing hymns in fake opera voices and make fun of Boompa as he slept). The day of solemn worship, of course, ended in a pub (Pub #8) and dinner at the best Thai restaurant ever, our favorite, Patara. Mmm.

Day five was my personal crowning glory. The day started with Moose's first ever walk! I strapped on his cute little collar and we went for a nice walk down my street, toward the White Horse. As soon as the White Horse came into view, Moose pulled on the leash, broke through the collar, and ran like a meat-covered shoe was waiting for him just around the corner. I caught him, but I'll be damned if I didn't come close to wetting myself out of motherly terror.

Once the Moose was once again detained, we went to the Natural History Museum to look at the Wildlife Photographer of the Year exhibit (always good). We visited the hall porter at our old flat and drank Gingerbread lattes and ate bananas. And then...a pub. Only this didn't turn out so well.

We went to the Jerusalem Tavern, one of London's tiniest and cutest pubs (Pub #9, if you're still counting). Matthew left work to meet us there. And yet...it wasn't serving food. Boo. So we adjourned to The Olde Mitre (Pub #10), another cute and adorable pub. And yet...no food. BOO! So Matthew gave up on our pub crawl and went back to work like a good little boy while Gmom, Boompa, and a seriously annoyed and hungry Lera went to the Black Friar (Pub #11), one of our favorite and most consistent pubs. Success!

You see where this is going, don't you? The end of day five, the night before Gmom and Boompa had to fly back to Wyoming? Incidentally also the day Moose decided to run for freedom right in front of our neighborhood pub?

You guessed it. The White Horse for dinner. Pub # 12. But here is the kicker. The White Horse is dog friendly, so we brought our little fuzz ball to the pub (Pub #1 for Moosey), where he was welcomed with a bowl of water and a biscuit. Moose was very helpful to us! The wait staff loved him, which helped us get our drinks swiftly. He also helped us with the pub quiz (well, he helped and so did Boompa's Google-equipped mobile phone), and led us to second place! Woohoo!

OK, so it was a big weekend for us. Even though Moose spent much of his weekend in jail, he still had a grand old time. He survived the microchip. He tasted freedom, if only for a few brief seconds. He visited his first (and surely not last) pub. He was renamed Lord Moosely Mooserton of Moosechestershire (don't ask, just go with it). And, most importantly, he gave Gmom and Boompa a reason to come back. And soon.

We had fun, G and B! Cheers!