Free The Andy Cohen Diaries by Andy Cohen

asthma inhaler because I was huffing and puffing on it. I was looking at the animal thinking I was going to spend the rest of my life with it. My first reaction was that it was too much dog , so much bigger than I thought it was going to be, and it was licking my face like crazy (which I didn’t like) and shedding all over (which I definitely didn’t like or expect). The dog has a penis that gets hard and pink randomly (like my own, I guess?) and that was very jarring. After ninety minutes in this room just staring at the dog, my face flushed with emotion, John suggested we take him out for a walk around the neighborhood. I should mention that the dog is crate trained, didn’t bark once, and was designated “the perfect dog” by John and Zarena, who runs See Spot Rescued.
    I told John on the walk that there was no way I could take the dog home. He was just too big and too much , basically. John told me we were not leaving New Jersey without the dog. He said he knew exactly what I was doing (running away from commitment), and that he was forcing me to take it. As my intended played with other dogs (quite well and cutely) at the dog run, it gave me this look that made me feel a little pang of something, I don’t know what. So I took him. I’m fostering him, that’s the deal I made with Zarena. For two weeks. We will see.
    He jumped in my car, went in the backseat, and fell right to sleep. A good sign, I thought. But I also couldn’t get over that I had an actual living, breathing dog in my new car. I got him home and followed him around my apartment for an hour. I picked up his shit on the sidewalk. I did it all. This was a really big day for me. I’ve never picked up dog shit. Speaking of which, I DM’d with some Cardinals about today’s game and I feel like Miranda waiting for a text message from a guy she saw at the gym, waiting for these guys, and I said to Joe Kelly Jr., “You’re killing it.” Because I do think that’s what bros say to each other. (See: Seacrest.)
    By the end of the night, I decided that this dog without a name is the smartest dog in the world. He’s going to make this easy for me. We were sitting down to watch the Cardinals game with the Irish chef and the dog brought me his leash, to tell me he had to pee, and I took him out and he did. It was incredible. I sat there watching packed Busch Stadium cheering for the pitcher Michael Wacha—“WACHA! WACHA! WACHA!” my hometown cheered, and trending on Twitter was “Wacha”—and I realized that my dog had just been named for me by the city of St. Louis. So that’s that. He is Wacha. And it kinda sounds like a dog’s name, although I can imagine a future explaining that he’s not named after Waka Flocka Flame. I can’t imagine not keeping him. (Unclear what will happen with the Irish chef.) Did I mention the pooch looks great on my couch?
    The Cardinals killed the Dodgers 9 to 0 and are heading to the World Series. Oh, and during the whole drama of staring at Wacha in Jersey, I found out that Thomas Roberts accepted the job I turned down, hosting Miss Universe in Russia, which I had boycotted months ago on the grounds that it would be hypocritical for a gay man to pimp a travelogue for a country that discriminates against him. So NBC got another gay guy to host the show, which was pretty smart on their part. He says he’s going to prove to the Russians that there’s hope, but I don’t know how he’s going to do that since they aren’t going to let him say he’s gay on the show. Instead he’s going to be talking about how beautiful Moscow is. There was something irritating about this news but I was too preoccupied with the canine to focus. See—the dog is already teaching me not to sweat the small stuff.
    SATURDAY, OCTOBER 19, 2013
    I woke up and Wacha had to pee really bad. He was running around like a maniac, so I took