I have always preferred to fly under the radar. Before I had Ella, you would generally see me walking around the city with earphones in, sunglasses on…read: I’m not interested in communicating with strangers so, politely, please leave me alone, thank you very much.

Fast forward to roughly late March ’08 when one such complete stranger stopped me on 79th and Park and said, “Oh my God I’ve heard about you!” I looked around, puzzled, sure she just forgot to take her meds that morning (something about these Upper Eastside women…so rich, so often drugged to dull the pain of being so rich). Anyway, she quickly clarified by saying, “I heard there was a new golden retriever puppy in the neighborhood!!” Whoa, seriously? Not a day later, a woman stopped me in the park and asked if I felt like a celebrity as often as I was being stopped while out and about. I promise you, if Ella knew how to write, she’d surely be signing autographs. Already, several people have stopped us to have their picture taken with her…

Anyway, here’s a perfect example of what others see when I’m out walking Ella, and why we never make it very far without people cooing and stopping us and telling me how beautiful and sweet she is. Of course it’s all very nice and I appreciate the complements. But in an answer to the woman’s question about whether I feel like a celebrity? No, I don’t feel like a celebrity…I feel like a celebrity’s handler! (Shouldn’t I get paid for this? Don’t most celeb assistants at least get some nice hand-me-down clothes/handbags or the stuff in the gift bags left over from industry events? I mean, throw a furmomma a bone!)

Now, go ahead…coo away…

As Ella gets older, she is increasingly intrigued by the ducks we see in Central Park. It’s all I can do sometimes to keep her from jumping in the Conservatory Water to chase after them. So I figured she’d love to have her very own quacking stuffed toy duck to chase around the apartment.

Well, as this clip shows, not all ducks are created equal, and apparently synthetic fur and a fake honker are no substitute for real feathers and a good ol’ genuine quack! She spends the first several minutes backing away in fear from this stuffed monstrosity, and the last couple of minutes trying to make the best of it but ultimately being bored.

I would bring home the real deal from the park for Ella to play with, but between the duck and Ella, I don’t think i could handle cleaning up all those messes…

By pedigree, Ella is technically half English and half American, but there’s no question that she’s adopted a full-blooded American way of life as evidenced by her love of hamburgers and hotdogs.

The only way Ella could be more American is if I threw a baseball cap on her and got her a red, white, and blue collar and leash set (not happening, by the way).

Her taste (so to speak) for American cuisine started at an early age. For those who don’t remember, here’s how it all started…

And here we are today…and in true American style, that hotdog is CLEARLY bigger than one serving…

Ella and I hate the rain. Well, ok, truthfully Ella is barely even aware that it’s raining she’s just so happy to be outside…I’m the one who hates it because I know that even a little bit of rain means a whole lot of muddy dog by the time we’re through. So it’s straight to the bathtub for Ella once we get back (this is where she starts to hate it)…

Anyway, when all is said and done, we’re both in a bad mood – me because i have to clean up a muddy dog and an even wet and muddier apartment (there are no mud rooms, surprisingly, in Manhattan studios), and Ella because she’s now soggy from the rain and her bath.

After Friday morning’s downpour, Ella modified the routine a little bit and decided that the best way to break the cycle and improve her mood would be to jump straight into my bed. Funny though…this strategy didn’t improve momma’s mood one bit…and as you’ll see, it didn’t fix Ella’s bad hair day…

“I don’t know where that wet spot came from…maybe you wet the bed?”

Ahh, springtime. The scratchy eyes, sneezing, itchy nose, sinus headaches…the annoyance of having to show my ID every time I pick up more Claritin-D from Duane Reade (darn methamphetamine users ruin it for everyone). The only consolation is, well, the absolute beauty of all that stuff in bloom, and frankly it makes me feel badly for even complaining about the pollen embedded in my contact lenses.

Central Park in springtime is as beautiful as you can imagine. There is such a variety of plants and flowers blooming, and there’s even an official bloom schedule for those of you dedicated foliage fans who would be heartbroken if you missed the Grape Hyacinth’s coming out party in May.

Ella was a great sport this morning and patiently posed beside any blooming tree, plant, or flower I could find.

DISCLAIMER: It’s safe to assume that any attempts I make below to identify the blooming flower, plant, or tree in the photos below are INCORRECT as I don’t know a daisy from a daffodil.

Here goes nothin’…

And last but not least, here she is lying in a sea of fallen blossoms (cherry blossoms I think? i should know this…i grew up near Washington D.C.…it’s not like I’ve never seen cherry blossoms before)…