Buzz and Jen become parents

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Buzz and Jen become parents
by Alison Barnet Contributor
Wednesday Jul 28, 2010

"Who’s the handsomest? The most perfect? The cutest . . . and the softest! Who’s a mother’s best little friend in the whole wide world?"

Gush, gush, gush. Buzz and Jen have now begun to live South End life to the hilt. Not only do they have a luxury condo, a parking space, SoWa, Mela, Toro, and Lekker, but a darling little pedigreed Tasmanian Frou-Frou the size of a kitten. Jean-Pierre is too cute to puke! No wonder everyone coos over him when Jen takes him out in a baby stroller in his birthday sweater and little matching booties to keep his paws nice and toasty. Now and then, he gives a delightful tiny high-pitched yap, startling Old South End types, who give Jen a dirty look, as though only human babies belong in a carriage. Imagine!

There was a time when Buzz and Jen laughed to see a tall man in a suit walking a tiny dog. It looked so odd! Those days are over. Buzz, tall and always in a suit, walks Jean-Pierre with great panache-South End style.

It’s so true what people say about pets being your children. Jean-Pierre is like a son to Buzz and Jen, who are relentlessly concerned about his well-being and his education. He has quite a life: daily day care, bubble baths, and four years at DePauw, Buzz’s alma mater, coming up some day. Although Buzz doesn’t expect him to follow in his father’s footsteps and become an investment banker, he knows there will be numerous fields open to him, one, for example, at Peters Park and one at Blackstone. Ha ha. That’s Buzz’s little joke. Another is that Evacuation Day is Jean-Pierre’s favorite holiday.

Of course, all holidays are Jean-Pierre’s favorite, as he’s inundated with gifts and good things to eat. Buzz and Jen easily spend $900 a month on their pet, taking him to the finest restaurants, enrolling him at an exclusive health spa, buying him a seat on airlines and reserving him a room in a topnotch hotel when they travel, which they frequently do.

Jean-Pierre is a good listener, and he likes a song now and then. Buzz has turned out to be a pretty good lyricist, rhyming Pierre with care and flair. A song Jean-Pierre particularly likes is, "Oh, I love him and I pov him and there’s no one above him," which has the refrain, "He’s a supe supe supe and a poop poop poop."

They decide to put out a CD-read Cute Dog-and it sells like hotcakes at dog shops around the city, particularly here in the South End.

Humming a couple of bars of "Where’d he go? I don’t know, but he’s my beau," Jen enters one of the South End’s dog parks to reward Jean-Pierre with an hour of socialization. "There’s such a sense of community here in the South End," she thinks. "Anyone who’s anyone has a dog, and I don’t mean a mutt. I can’t imagine living anywhere else, out in the wastelands, so to speak, where dog food is bought in supermarkets, dogs are regular size, and little boys walk them instead of professional dog walkers. And horrors! No dog bakeries!"

She meets a friend walking an exotic Egyptian Barkalot. They get to talking, and, somehow, tiny as he is, Jean-Pierre manages to climb up on a rock and get their attention by yapping like crazy. It’s exactly as though he’s saying, "Hey! Who’s socializing, you or me?" "I don’t know how he got so spoiled," Jen tells her friend, before crossing the street to buy him a cookie twice his size.

The CD continues to do well. Pretty soon, Jen and Buzz are appearing on local talk shows and singing in clubs. Jean-Pierre often comes with them, wearing a beret three sizes too big and keeping the beat with his tiny tail. They often mention the South End and its dog-friendly atmosphere with the result that, despite the bad economy, luxury condos and lofts take off faster than ever. Unsurprisingly, a need for more dog parks soon arises, and the city helps out by taking a number of rowhouses by eminent domain. Soon sidewalks are more impassable than they ever were, and police report a number of fatal accidents in which passersby are entangled in leashes. Travel comes to a crawl every morning when hundreds of doggie day care buses begin to roll, the poor pooches staring out the windows worried where their next treat is coming from. Dog doo-doo piles up alarmingly, especially after plastic doggie bag manufacturers find they can’t produce them fast enough.

All of this, needless to say, is a great boon to Buzz and Jen, who buy the Cyclorama for a recording studio. Walking by on Tremont Street, it’s fun to hear the strains of their latest hit: "He’s my pooper scoop, my hula hoop, and my loop dee loop."

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