The “Walk”

The best part of my day—Monday through Friday—is when I return home from work.  As I open the door to the humble abode I am greeted by the exuberance and joy of our canine children.  Both Quinn and Birdie jump up and down practically knocking me over to gain my attention.  Birdie lets out a heartfelt “ah-roo” signaling her excitement at my presence.  It is a welcome that destroys the roller coaster effects of a day at work.  It is an acknowledgement of love and desire.  It feels good to be loved and wanted.

On the other hand, the wife greets me from the comfort of her recliner in the other room with a simple, “Hey.”  I’ve learned after forty-some years of marriage that demonstrative displays of love and affection are saved for the grandchildren, dogs, and children (in that order) by the wife.  Yet I know that a simple “hey” hides the deep and abiding love she holds for me . . . after all, I am her “one and only”.  She thanks God every day.  She couldn’t handle any more of me than already has.  And I appreciate it.  We understand each other.  She understands me . . . really understands me.  I am an introvert and we introverts are not extravagant practitioners of abundant and public affection.  A simple “hey” suffices.  “Hey” says it all.

 

But nothing beats the welcome I receive from my furry loves.  Grandchildren come close, but nothing compares to a sloppy canine kiss and “ah-roo”.

 

Someone once told me that the reason that dogs get so excited when their owners leave for any length of time is because they think they are never going to come back.  Then when the owners return, they are surprised to see them.  Surprised that they have returned, they welcome their owners with joy and excitement of the father greeting the return of the prodigal son.  It is practically biblical in proportion.  Whatever the case, I revel in their greeting.  It feels good.

 

Yet, I know my dogs.  There are other motives behind their greeting.  Especially for our Borgie (Border Collie/Corgi mix) . . . it’s the “walk”.  My presence signals the evening walk.  Birdie becomes my shadow.  Wherever I go . . . whatever I do . . . she is beside me, staring me down with those big brown eyes, pleading, “Walk me!”

 

And it works.

 

I walk the dogs on most days when I get home and before we have supper.  The wife likes this arrangement because it gets the dogs out of the house—in particular, out of the kitchen while she cooks.  It is her “break time” from the dogs.  Before the dogs, it was our children.  In particular, our daughter.  Our daughter was a talkative tyke who was constantly bending her mother’s ear throughout the day.  Non-stop chatter.  For relief the wife met me at the door with daughter in hand, pointed me back out the door, and sent me out for a walk with the daughter.  Her last words were always, “Don’t hurry back.”  Hand in hand, I walked the blond bomber . . . chattering all the way.  It is still one of my fondest memories of my daughter.

 

The “walk” is the highlight of Birdie’s day.  She lives for the stroll around our small community.  Quinn, our miniature Dachshund, not so much.  Where Birdie is excited, Quinn is reluctant.  Who could blame her?  She is little.  She easily walks under Birdie—doesn’t even have to duck her head.  Her legs are short.  Her belly is inches off the ground.  In her mind “walk” is a journey of a thousand miles.  Typically, my pedometer tells me my average “walk” is 7000 steps.  That translates into well over 30,000 steps for Quinn.  I can understand her reluctance . . . but she goes.  Within half of a block, she becomes a willing and enthusiastic participant.  Birdie’s highlight becomes her highlight.

 

Understand, I am no rookie when it comes to walking dogs.  I have been doing it from the beginning with all the dogs we have been graced with in our lives.  The “walk” has always been a part of my journey.  They are our adventures.

 

When we first moved to Kearney, Nebraska to serve a congregation, the “walk” was with our Scottish Terrier named Pettie (Pronounced “Petey” . . . I know, I know.  The wife is from Kentucky and that is how they talk down there.).  We arrived in Kearney a motley crew . . . a one-year-old infant, a pregnant wife (bearing our second of four children—the previously mentioned chatter box daughter), and Pettie who had had a litter of puppies right before we moved.  Needing a respite from the craziness of setting up house, taking care of a toddler, and corralling wandering puppies, both Pettie and I took our first walk in our new neighborhood.  We hit the streets to explore our surroundings.

 

And what a beautiful neighborhood it was.  Manicured lawns.  Beautiful flower gardens.  It was picture perfect.  House after house looked like they were plucked right out of Better Homes and Gardens!   One house even had a great big sign out front proclaiming it the “yard of the week”.  It was magnificent.  Beautiful.  Awe inspiring.

 

I stopped to admire the “yard of the week” in all its splendor.  While admiring all that splendor, Pettie decided to take care of other important business and proceeded to take a dump.  Right there in front of God, all the heavenly angels, and everyone in the neighborhood she left a deposit right out front.  Not having doggie bags back in those dark ages, I hurried us home as quickly as possible.  It just did not seem like a neighborly act on the part of Pettie and me.  We had announced our arrival.

 

Adventure.  That is what the “walk” represents for the pups.  It is part exploration . . . part exercise . . . and all social.  It is constant sniffing, pausing, and reading the “pee mail”.  We humans have email, canines have “pee mail”.  Unknow to the human olfactory, “pee mail” is spewed across the landscape.  Apparently, it is everywhere . . . on a bush, rock, tree, pole, and in the grass.  Stop and go. Stop and go.  Ever ten feet we paused so the latest message from Bowser from down the street could be read/smelled.  More times than countable, I have nearly had my arm ripped from its socket or dropped on my backside because Birdie dug in to read/smell a newly discovered message from the town poodle demanding immediate attention.  Heaven forbid if I rush her through the latest doggie gossip!  There must be millions of dogs in town . . . at least it feels that way as much as we stop to catch up on the “pee mail”.

 

Unfortunately, my two dogs don’t read the same messages or read at the same speed.  When one stops, the other wants to go.  Stop and go.  Stop and go.

 

It is one thing to read the “pee mail”.  Dogs are social creatures with impeccable manners.  It is rude to leave a message unanswered or to not leave a few “pee mails” around.  They must be responded to in kind.  So, of course, my pups contribute willingly—and often—to the ongoing conversation.  It is the way it is.  It is not stop, read, and go . . . no, it is stop, read, pee, and go.  I guess one good correspondence deserves another.  I guess I should admire this genteel practice in my dogs.  I know a lot of people who never respond to anything.  I don’t want anyone to say my dogs are cretins who don’t follow canine protocol.  I raised my dogs better than that.

 

Another great distraction on the “walk” are other critters.  It is amazing how many critters inhabit our small community.  We have never gone on a walk without encountering some sort of creature.  Mostly we run into other dogs . . . either being walked, behind fences, or on a chain.  Being social, my dogs want to greet these other dogs.  What ensues is a barking constant and Quinn straining like crazy to how everyone that despite her minute size that she is the toughest dog in town.  We have encountered herds of deer . . . some are playful, most are skittish.  We have stumbled into a rafter of wild turkeys . . . up to seventy at once.  The pups like to chase them . . . and, yes, turkeys can fly.  Rabbits often catch the pups off guard.  Quinn, being a “hunter” often finds mice (dead and alive).  Occasionally we run into a cat or two.  Once we met an owl.  We stop and talk to horses who are friendly and curious.  We greet the cows out in the fields.  See a lot of birds.  Hear the coyotes.  Catch a Sandhill Crane here and there. We are never alone when we are on walks.  Never a dull moment on the “walk”.

 

Another part of the adventure is the actual skill of walking two dogs on two separate leashes at the same time.  At first it was a walking circus with a lot of stopping to untangle the leashes which usually involved a whole lot of unrepeatable words on my part.  I do a lot of hand exchanging with the leashes—front and back.  I have become quite skilled at keeping them from tangling up.  Every so often Quinn will stop when the leash gets under body.  She waits until I free her and then we are off.  Plus, we look peculiar when we walk because of the sizes of the two dogs.  I don’t care because the pups are happy.

 

And . . . that is what matters.  We are all happy.  The “walk” provides us with great joy . . . fresh air . . . exercise . . . adventure . . . and companionship.  My dogs love me.  I love my dogs.  Walking my dogs is the least I can do for them after all the love they shower upon me.  I think I might be wrong . . . maybe the greeting at the door isn’t the best part of my day.  Maybe . . . yeah . . . the “walk” is.  Hmmmm . . . who would have thought?

 

(The picture and poem at the top of this blog is by the wife, Dana Keener . . . she says it well.)