Bessie and Carley are dogs. We can learn from them.
Here’s how to think like a dog:
The sight of a leash is a signal for joy and jumping—a leash is a ticket to ride, or the certain indicator that there will be walking outdoors. Bounce off the walls, and do four-footed jumps until the human snaps your leash, the knotted red one, onto your collar.
If you stare fixedly out the car window long enough, the wooded preserve comes into view.
When you jump out of the car, the first thing to do is: start straining against the leash with such manic energy that you gasp repeatedly for breath, and don’t stop doing this until the walk is ended.
The second thing is: plant yourself, as it were, permanently, at the nearest clump of leaves on a fallen branch, sniff deeply, urinate, sniff again, repeat until the human drags you away.
Then, pull madly toward the nearest tree, inhale all its mysteries, pee, dash to the next tree.
Repeat for about 40 minutes.
If you’re a black lab, try at least once, and put your heart into it, to jump into the cedar-stained waters of the quiet river that borders the park. Try it again if you get the chance, you never know….
If you’re a Boston terrier, show your best full-toothed grimace to the big dogs you meet along the path, almost hurt yourself trying to get at them, seriously, tell them in dog-speak that if it weren’t for the g.d. leash, you’d be eating their livers right there, right in the middle of the trail.
Don’t worry about looking up, really, there’s a lot of stuff that’s really interesting no more than two feet above ground level. It’s your world.
Another thing: try to poop behind the fallen tree, under the thatch of rhodo, so the human has to grunt to reach it with his hand inside a blue bag.
Keep in mind that the next smell is always the best one, as soon as you’re finished with the one you’re working on now, you gotta get to that next one ASAP, put your weight into it, be a manly dog….
One more thought: it never hurts to try to pee one more time.
Copyright © Richard Carl Subber 2015