A Monologue Conducted While Walking Two Dogs at a Time
Collars buckled. Leashes snapped on. Tails? Wagging. Good.
If I could . . . just . . . step over Daisy . . . there, that foot's flat on the floor . . . and swing the other leg over Boomer without . . . whoa! . . . without losing my balance, I'll reach to open the door and get us . . . outside . . . get us started on this walk. Let me just pass this leash behind my back to my other hand and . . . Daisy, come on, keep up! Boomer, no pulling! . . . and everything should be OK. OK, we're outside, let's get going. Not that way, Daisy, we're going this way.
I think we're going for a short walk today. You dogs are all wound up.
No, actually, you're normal. You're excited and distracted and crazy, but for you that's normal. Normal for you.
I don't think I can handle a long walk this morning. We're not going to the dog park where I can let you run off leash, that's why. Besides, it looks like rain and it'll be muddy there. And even if it isn't . . . Daisy, what's that in your mouth?
Daisy, you can't run away from me. I have you on the leash. Come over here and let me see what you picked up. (deep voice, threatening) Daisy, come here.
That didn't work. (sweet voice) Daisy, right here. Come here.
That didn't work either. (regular voice, while reeling in the leash) Daisy, come on over here. That's a piece of plastic. That's not for you. Boomer, would you hold on a minute there? I'm trying to get something out of Daisy's mouth.
OK. There we go. Let's get going again.
Very good. OK, we're coming up to Boomer's favorite tree. The one where he found live bunnies last spring. Boomer, stop pulling me. Boomer, stop pulling. You're going to . . . OK, go ahead and sniff. You too, Daisy. Boomer found live bunnies there last spring and ate them. He's been excited when we pass this tree ever since. Like it's his own personal fast-food drive-up window stocked with live treats. Yup, he ate them. That's right, Daisy, that's Boomer for you.
Alright, Boomer, that's enough. Daisy, let's go. Come on, there's no bunnies (just like the last 364 times you sniffed there since that one day last year.) Come on, let's go.
I'll tell you two that the person who invents the leash for handling two canines is going to make a fortune. What would that look like? How would it . . . Daisy, no! That's not our newspaper. Drop it.
Here's a treat. Look, I have a treat for you. First you have to drop it. Look . . . treat. Drop it. Treat. Drop . . . OK, I have it now, give it to me, there we go. Good girl. Here's your treat.
You want one now too, Boomer. There you go, good boy.
We're turning here. Right there's our house. Let's go this way. Come on. We're almost there. Yes, we're going home. I think you two have had about enough for today. You must be exhausted.
Patience is a virtue, Rich! Well, you have
ReplyDeletelots of it, whatever it is. Look them
up in the dictionary; you'll be proud of
yourself especially since you and your doggies gave someone a "smile" to start her day.
What?? No expletives? You're a better man than I, Rich Struck! (Yeah, I know...I'm female...it's a figure of speech, okay?!)
ReplyDeleteKate
I don't have to walk my cats; although I do sometimes have to climb up on the kitchen bench to retrieve my lovebird from the blade of the ceiling fan. The bird, not wanting to be retrieved, hops from blade to blade in his own version of "na-na, naaaaa na-na, you can't catch me!"
ReplyDeleteWe found a leash that works pretty well to walk our golden and our lab. It's heavily woven, with a handle and two leads coming off of it. I haven't quite figured it out, but it works well for my husband! Although, something scared the golden the other day and she took off like a rocket; his finger was wrapped in the leash and she just about ripped it off. Amazing how their true canine power can emerge at a moment's notice!
ReplyDeleteGreat post. Very funny and so realistic. Love this blog. Not a single post I haven't enjoyed! Kornflake sends a shout out to Daisy and Boomer, says he wishes he could have gone with.
ReplyDelete