I've been here. Sleeping a lot. This couch, the sitting-room couch, my little igloo-bed (when my lady is out), that sunny patch on the hall carpet, and of course, THE Bed, too. I told you I was getting old. Well, now I know it.
I said I'd be talking about walks at at some stage. That they deserved a post all of their own, me being a dog and all. Well, it seem talking about walking is all I'm going to be doing from now on. There was a very humiliating event on a Sunday. I know it was a Sunday, because she was getting the paper, and she said, as she always does, "Well, Trixie, will we go get the paper?"
[Aside: Truth is, she doesn't always say that. Often, if it's raining, windy, cold, foggy, frosty, damp, or threatening to become any of those things, she takes the car, but that ruins a good story, so stick with "as she always does". OK?]
Because I'm quite deaf, I rely on a lot of other signals to tell me what's being said, but the emergence of my lead (and a plastic bag) from the hall cupboard told me that indeed we were going walking. I was Happy. I mean HAPPY. I love walks. I love getting out and sniffing under escalonias, and checking out the lampposts, and seeing that Jack Russell up the road thinking he has some chance with me. (Huh! Not a chance!). I always jump up and down. I always do my little "puppy-dance", and she says "Shush. Stay still. If I can't get your lead on, we can't go for a walk", so I quieten down, she puts on the lead, and I set off to take my lady for her walk.
We go right. We always go right. We pass the open gardens, and the fences. I detour under the willow at the corner house. (I love that extending lead she got for me, and that I get "free rein" unless we're near traffic). There are children, who ask about the "puppy" Puppy! Me! , and my lady always proudly tells them that I'm twice their age, or all their ages added together, depending on the ages of the children. (I'm no judge of that. I trust her judgement though). Sometimes I get a patting, and I've been used in Anti-Dog-Fear therapy by quite a few mothers in the neighbourhood. "Look at the cute little Dog!" I am cute. I am little. Some children who wouldn't go near a Spaniel will come check me out! I enjoy it. But they're never allowed to give me chocolate or crisps!
When we emerge from the circle of houses, onto the Thorn Road, she reins me in a little. I know better than to step off the footpath, but there could be other dogs. There's a dalmation, and a boxer who walk here regularly, but they're on leads, and well-behaved. It's that Chow who runs free, and darts into the road to bark at me that has my lady worried. What if I take off after her, and a car comes? So I content myself with checking out the rubbish that's blown under the hedges. Juice-boxes, crisp packets,
[pause, while I follow a natural urge, and my lady responsibly deals with the resulting waste matter. Ahem!]
And at the top of the road, we have to cross the main road. I know about this. I know about Wait, wait, wait. We wait. Cars pass. And then there's a gap, and she says Quick Across, and we run. And once we're on the other side, five minutes from home, I realise I'm exhausted. Did we go the long way round? Why do I feel so tired? Oh, I could just lie down here and rest a little bit.
Friends. I got carried home. Luckily, I am small, and luckily, my lady loves me. But I have been on my last outing to the shop, it seems. From now on, a gentle stroll up the path, and down the path is all I'll be doing.
Walking is wonderful. While you can do it, get out there and do it. And if you have a dog, or can borrow a dog, take them along, and think of me as you go. Enjoy!
Love,
Trixie.
