Walkies

I do much of my writing while walking the dogs. Scratch that - cajoling or dragging my dogs is more like it. The Dog Whisperer could probably do a miniseries on my lack of dog-handling skills. I try really hard, but apparently that doesn’t cut it. Lucy was the only one of our three dogs to attend doggie school, and she kind of flunked out. Or rather, I flunked out. Once out the door, Stella (5 lb. Yorkie) takes the lead by yapping her head off for a solid five minutes. She has the full-blown Terrier personality, whereby she has no clue she is tiny. In her mind, she is a massive creature armed with nunchucks and a grenade launcher. Cosmo (30 lb. Scottie) is a chunky boy - not fat, just big-boned. He checks his pee mail at every tree, street sign, and utility pole. He loves people, probably because he knows they’re made out of meat. He gets aggressive with other dogs, and then attacks Stella. Go figure. Lucy (20 lb. Scottie) stops at the first patch of grass, tips over, rolls around a bit, and then just lies there. This happens about every twelve feet. I don’t like dragging her, but I don’t have a better alternative. It sometimes feels like I’m walking the coffee table, while other times like I’m trying to reel in three marlins, uphill. I see other people walking their dogs, “walking” being the operative word. They actually move down the sidewalk, go forward, make actual progress. Unbelievable... What would that be like? My technique to achieve motion is a combination of pleading and swearing. Not very effective, but it’s all I have. I wonder if neighbors see me as that mean lady with the adorable little dogs. I know I’m not the Alpha dog. My dogs know it as well. Throw me a bone here, guys! I just might share it.