Julia received a pair of sparkly, rhinestone-bedazzled shoes for Christmas and, for some reason, was dying to go out last night to see how they sparkled at night. They don’t light up on their own, sadly, so I used the opportunity to bring out my own shiny toy, a green laser that I had purchased off of some Woot-like service for $3 a few months back.

Panda poses with poise

With the full moon, it was tough to point out Orion’s belt and Betelgeuse (“hey honey, its going to blow up some day”"No“”Yes”"Really?”"Uh-huh”"Cool“), but we managed. The laser also gave off a cool green disco effect on her shoes.

On a whim, I carried with me Julia’s digital camera, which was left on the hutch for some infraction and forgotten about months ago.

Then we decided to do something we haven’t done in nearly two years, when nightly walks were far more common, continue cataloging the puppies of Jenkintown. We meandered up to the town square, looked through the toy shop windows and talked about how the new owner of the bakery next door is much nicer (the old one wouldn’t let her use the bathroom once). I forgot how much I missed this stuff. We got out of the habit when Benny became of walking age. He’s less of a stroller than Julia.

When we found our only victim of the night, Julia and I both felt out of practice. She got nervous in asking the owner for permission, and then forgot how to use the flash setting. For my part, I forgot where the review button was as well as my notebook for recording the deets on the dog, Panda. In any case, I felt bad about holding the dog’s owner in the cold to indulge my kid, so I wasn’t going to quiz him.

Merry and bright

Panda, like most dogs around here, it seems, is a mixed breed adopted from a rescue. She had a beagle meets bull terrier vibe and was very sweet. Julia, of course, reminded me that we need a dog. I, of course, reminded her that we can’t rely on her to pick up her toys, how would she manage with a puppy? She just would, is all.

On the way back we stopped off to take some shots of the neighborhood lights. They came out blurry, but Julia liked the effect.

One of those solar-powered LED ornaments. Maybe a hummingbird, which would explain the blur.

She’s thinking of taking pictures of all the stuff in people’s yards. Pink flamingos and decorations and the like.

We’ll call it the Gnomenclature of Jenkintown, I thought, but I didn’t dare tell her. We had done enough for the evening, and I didn’t like the idea of poorly explaining one more thing that night.

I’m catching up on puppy updates, but here’s a picture Julia took just yesterday.

His name is Max.

Max Arrow, Private Eye.

There are a thousand stories in the Naked Borough, and this is his.

Really. That’s his name, Max Arrow, Private Eye. He’s a regular on our block and, if I remember correctly, a rescue pup, although obviously greying a bit now. In keeping with the P.I. spirit, there are four things we can deduce about his owner…if you’d care to click the picture to enlarge:

• He works at Trader Joe’s.
• He’s married.
• He can’t hold a paring knife properly.
• He was kind enough to wait for Julia to snap the picture.

Nice fellow.

We were marching up to the town square in the hopes that ice cream could be found there. Fortunately, the new place, 709 West Avenue Cafe was open an hour past its posted closing time. There Ben and Julia each ate a bowl of ice cream larger than their heads. I had the coffee.

The Cafe, not to be confused with the West Avenue Grill across the street, opened a few months back and seems to be getting decent word-of-mouth. In fact, if I’m not mistaken, the Cafe is in the same spot where the Grill started out almost a decade ago. Between the Cafe and Old Man Al’s Questionable Burgers, there’s something of an uptick in local eateries, which is great since Jenkintown Java’s preserved corpse is still sitting there off the square, waiting for a new tenant to step in and get the pots boiling again.

Quick point of sanity: You really don’t have to tell the five year-old that your fourteen year-old lab is not a puppy. She gets the distinction. (This doesn’t apply to the pups or their owners below.)

Don’t be fooled by the enormous golden retriever, Abby, here. She’s not just a sleepy older pooch on the, erm, husky side.

She’s like a trapdoor spider, waiting for two year-olds to lick. I believe her tongue was big enough to get all the spaghetti sauce off Ben’s face in one go. You see, there’s a reason we do this after dinner.

This pup, on the other paw, truly was sedentary.

Lastly, Cocoa was a sweet older beagle that we’ve seen a few times, but never has been captured, until now. I like this pic.

An Iggles fan, even in the off season.

All pictures courtesy of Julia, click ‘em to embiggen.

Is this dog talented or what? A tremendous amount of personality, just by sitting there.

Bo, who we caught along with yesterday’s Sonny, is either trying out to be the next Nipper, or wants to know when Julia is going to take the #&*! picture already.

But, you see, its the ambiguity behind her portrayal that sets her apart from other dogs.

Or, she’s just a dog.