The dog sniffed me twice, circled my body and then squatted and peed on my boot. “Oh my gosh! Bad, Bitsy, bad!” said Bitsy’s owner, dragging the tiny designer dog away from my dripping rubber boots. She turned to me somewhat aghast. “I’m so sorry — Bitsy has never done that before. At least you’re wearing rain boots. lol!” I was at a loss as to how to respond. I mean, what do you say when someone’s tiny dog pees on your boot? “Oh, don’t worry, this happens all the time.” “No problem. I have often been mistaken for a fire hydrant.” “Clearly Bitsy is not a fan of my boots.” I wasn’t actually sure if said peeing had more to do with Bitsy or with me. Since I’d never had a dog pee on my boot before, I suspected that this was more of a Bitsy thing than a me thing. First, let’s call a spade a spade. If I was a dog named Bitsy, I would certainly show my displeasure with my name choice by relieving myself in as many inappropriate places as possible. Then there was the fact that I had a fine haircut, while Bitsy looked like a bald lion with a permed mane, frilly tutu socks and a tufted Dr. Seuss tail. Last of all was the fact that Bitsy was … Pink. Like, really, really pink. As far as I could recall, pink was not a natural color in the animal kingdom unless you are a flamingo or an imaginary elephant you see when you are a drunk. However, this was a tiny poodle name Bitsy who clearly got her pinkness from a bottle of hair dye probably called Barbie Pink. I would not be surprised if she had a pink Barbie Dream car to go with her fabulous dye job. But alas, Bitsy did not have a dream car. She had a little pink doggy stroller, excuse me, carriage, just in case her little bitsy feet got tired from walking, which, to my knowledge, is an activity that most dogs are bred to do. Bitsy also had a matching pink fur blankie in her carriage and her own sparkly tiara, just in case she happened to be invited to join the Queen of England for tea and felt underdressed for the occasion. Now, I am not one to judge. Okay, yes I am. But I’m sure it wouldn’t surprise you to learn that Bitsy’s owner was also dressed in pink, minus the tiara, because I’m sure she had the good sense to realize that she would not, in all likelihood, be invited to join the Queen of England for tea. Meanwhile, back in wet boot land, much as I wanted to return the favor to Bitsy, I decided, in the name of good taste, to do what I could to salvage the situation. “It’s not a problem,” I assured Bitsy’s owner. “It could be worse. At least she’s not a Great Dane.” “That’s so funny,” she replied. “We actually do have a Great Dane. His name is Big.” “Of course it is,” I said. “And is Big pink, too?” “No, that would be silly,” she said. “He’s a male …” “He’s blue.” — For more Lost in Suburbia, Follow Tracy on Facebook at www.facebook.com/LostinSuburbiaFanPage and Twitter @TracyBeckerman.