Happy Endings: Reflections on Toy Dog Culture in Los Angeles

A young-ish woman entered the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on Santa Monica bearing a small dog beneath one arm like the latest Prada clutch. She was beautiful on that kind of "West L.A." kind of way - blond, slender, waxed, and wispy - fresh from Pilates.

She approached the counter and got the immediate payoff of "Awwwww...he's so cute!" from the barista behind the counter. The young-ish woman nuzzled in to the dog and replied, "He's having separation anxiety."

The dog had no idea what was going on.

It's amazing how pets become our heart's mouthpieces, the baby banter reflecting our inner child's sing-songy whine. I wondered what kind of separation anxiety the woman was going through.

Maybe she was one of the aspiring who, after a short stint in the land of the intangible, was leaving town with her tail and the memories of many temporary men promising a half-Surbubanite, half-Hollywood happy ending between her legs. Maybe she was going through a breakup, or worse, a divorce - and he was getting the dog. Yeah, that was it.

She walked outside and proceeded to talk to her dog like a wily, fun-loving toddler for about ten minutes - clearly the trial run of the first of limited visitation rights with the child-substitute that she would never have with the man who was leaving her.

L.A.'s a lot like that - a collection of bittersweet beginnings and endings that in the heart read like short stories and novels never finished - a Choose Your Own Adventure book that sometimes feel unfulfilling. Thank God for rewrites. This isn't an everyday town, this perpetual Disneyland city. But, there's a lot to be said for this brand of life experience that can be crammed into the years out here. With its spread-out landscape, geography becomes a time marker for different eras and phases, and each is a little bit different than the next person's recollection of their own events.