Okay. So I did a thing.
You guys, I woke up last Sunday morning after a rather spirited Saturday night (read: three espresso martinis and, for whatever reason, a very emotional viewing of The Devil Wears Prada), and I said to myself: “Rachel, you need to get outside. Touch some grass. Reconnect with joy.”
And then it hit me. What brings more joy than puppies? Nothing. Well, maybe shoes — but puppies don’t hurt your feet. So I decided to go to Central Park with one mission: to pet every. single. dog. I saw.
Spoiler: I did not pet every dog in Central Park.
But here’s what actually happened — and why it might have been one of my favorite NYC days ever.
The Outfit Dilemma
First hurdle: what does one wear to pet 5,000 dogs in Central Park? I needed something chic enough to be seen in public (and, you know, possibly on a spontaneous Instagram story), yet comfy and definitely not white. I once wore cream trousers to a dog-friendly brunch and walked out looking like a lint roller. Never again.
I went with boyfriend jeans, a vintage graphic tee (it said “More Dogs, Less Drama”—which felt thematic), and my Stan Smiths. Plus shades and a messy ponytail I swear was inspired by Zendaya… but came out more “hungover Pilates instructor.” Whatever.
The Plan (Kind Of?)
I brought a large iced coffee (duh), my reusable water bottle (I’m eco now), and a bag of homemade peanut butter treats that Monica insisted were safe for dogs. She texted me the ingredient list no less than six times. I love that woman but she needs a hobby.
Anyway. Armed with snacks, caffeine, and puppy optimism, I entered the park on 72nd and Central Park West, directly across from The Dakota, which always makes me feel moody and mysterious like I’m in a Nora Ephron film. By the way, it was peak golden hour — Central Park looked like a painting. The kind Ross probably studies and makes smug remarks about.
And then, the real fun began.
Types of Dogs I Met 🐾
Here’s a brief breakdown of the Central Park dog scene, according to a completely unscientific, entirely Rachel-based study:
1. The Socialite Pomeranians
I met three of them. Their names? Biscuit, Bella, and (I swear I’m not making this up)… Miss Taffeta. Their owners were all wearing coordinated Lululemon and drinking iced matchas. I was intimidated but also weirdly proud.
Highlight: Miss Taffeta had a pink cashmere sweater. I silently whispered “icon” as I petted her.
2. The Trust Fund Goldens
There were so. many. golden retrievers. I’ve never seen that many golden boys in one place since that college spring break in Cabo.
They were all beautiful, well-behaved, and named things like Hudson, Finley, and (my favorite) Sir Reginald Fluff. Each one let me pet them like we were old friends. One leaned on my leg like he loved me. I cried a little. Don’t judge me, I was emotionally vulnerable.
3. The Chihuahua Who Snubbed Me
His name was Killer. He wore a harness that said “Don’t Touch Me.” I tried anyway.
Killer snapped at my vintage tee and his owner gave me a death stare that could have frozen lava.
Lesson learned: respect the vibe.
4. The Surprise Sheepherding Demo
At Sheep Meadow — ironic, right? — I stumbled across a border collie named Jet doing drills with his very serious dad. You guys, Jet was basically doing Pilates with a sheep toy.
Quote from serious dog dad: “He’s training for intermediate trials. He’s kind of a big deal.”
Me: “I literally had a bag of Doritos for breakfast.”
Moments That Were Just… So NYC
Aside from the actual dogs, it was one of those magical New York days where everything feels like a romcom montage. Highlights:
- A saxophonist playing “Isn’t She Lovely” by the lake as a poodle puppy did zoomies.
- Someone proposing under Bethesda Terrace while their bulldog wore a tuxedo.
- A random German tourist complimented my jeans and I almost cried because they were final sale and a gamble.
And get this. I bumped into Joey. He was jogging (??) with a giant Great Dane. His exact words: “It’s not mine. I’m dogsitting. He ate my sandwich.”
Still, we sat and caught up for a bit. Then the Great Dane tried to lick my coffee, and I panicked and dropped it. Joey said he’d Venmo me, but I’m still waiting.
The Aftermath
I got home covered in fur, with my soul approximately 87% fuller. I counted — I’d petted 43 dogs. Forty. Three.
Did I pet every dog in Central Park? No. But I made eye contact with at least a hundred, and exchanged meaningful love-energy with most of them, soooo… basically yes.
My cheeks hurt from smiling. I smelled like kibble. People kept asking if I work at a dog rescue (wait… could I?).
This city, you guys. It’s just so full of love. The soulful, slobbery, four-legged kind and the kind that happens when strangers stop to coo over a Corgi in a bowtie.
I don’t know if I believe in soulmates anymore. But I totally believe in soul-dogs.
Until next time — remember to hydrate, wear comfy shoes, and pet with consent.
xo,
Rachel
P.S. Yes, I made an Instagram story highlight. It’s called “Puppy Party.” You’re welcome.
