Small Dogs

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Chet

I didn’t used to like little dogs.  In fact I thought they were obnoxious, pathetic and even difficult to regard as real dogs.  I said things like “I can’t respect a dog that couldn’t kill me,” and considered wrestling as an essential touchstone of canine quality.  I thought that the more a dog resembled a wolf the better. Miniature sounded like a derogatory term for any breed.  I even admit to wondering on occasion just how far one could punt a yapping Chihuahua, given optimal weather conditions.  I confess this all now with contrition.  I was a blind fool.

It took a mighty pack of adorable advocates to sway me. Annie, Abigale, Bisou, Jack, Chet, Bobbi, Nala and others have all shown me that little dogs got it where it counts.  In fact, since most shepherd dogs don’t herd sheep, most bulldogs don’t fight bulls, and the fast majority of pointers and spaniels will never hunt any game more dangerous than a squeaky toy, we may as well recognize that we keep dogs in our homes for a purpose beyond the original designs of the breed. Above all, those of us who don’t hunt or herd have dogs around specifically for their companionship.  And in that sense, little dogs are further along on the path toward the domestic ideal, co-evolving with us before our eyes into the splendid urbanites of the future.  And it’s not just that they fit well in apartments and homes surrounded by cityscape, that they live a long time, eat relatively little and make only tiny, inoffensive poops.  I’ve most come to admire how unadorned they are.  Bisou with her sparkly collar only embodies cuteness and adorability with the utmost efficiency.  Who needs a lab’s webbed feet?  Not Annie.  She can float like a teddy bear.   Where is the herd of sheep that is going to escape if Abigale isn’t equipped to drive them back home?  What does the earth stand to gain by drawing up massive wagging tails to coffee table height? You won’t catch pheasants or ducks if you take Bobbi hunting, but you will capture the hearts of everyone you meet.  And so what if Jack won’t scare off any burglars.  He won’t bite their ankles as they carry out the TV, but he will look sad and cute enough to make the burglars stop what they’re doing, put the TV back and go home to reconsider their ways.

Maverick

My new fondness for little dogs started as professional courtesy, with me being nice and friendly and fun with the pups because it’s my job. Dogs, no doubt, could sense my misgivings, and may have treated me with the same detached formality.  I didn’t look forward to walking the little guys like I did the big boys. With them, I always knew we were pals.  With the little dogs, however, there often seemed an oppressive mutual decorum, if not open hostility.  Maverick, for example, used to bite my shoe as I walked out the door.  Once the bulk of me was safely behind a pane of wood and only my foot stuck back to keep him from running out into the street, he figured the odds were even and he could finally tell me how he really felt.  This was actually pretty painful, but I confess it hurt my feelings more than my foot (though I never let on to either).  What had I, or my foot, done to offend?

Abigale never bit me, but she did require a lot of patience at first.  When she was adopted, rescued from unfortunate circumstances, she was terribly timid and nervous.  She would spend nearly half of every visit running to hide under various couches, listening to me try to coax her to come near enough to let me put a harness on her.  For weeks she would only inch toward a treat, and then grab it and scram to the nearest defensible space.  I never held it against her for being so afraid, because I would probably react the same way if a 100 foot-tall ogre came into my home carrying a rope, regardless of how he baby talked. Little by little over months, this ogre has almost completely persuaded little Abigale that he’s not only harmless, but fun and friendly and generous with treats.  And in trying to win her over, I’ve been won over as well.  How could anyone be displeased with an animal that looks like she was sculpted out of cotton candy, and acts like friendship and joy are her only operative instincts?  She delights in people, and delights them wherever she goes (hurray for an adoption success story!). We leave a wake of smiles wherever we walk, and I’m as proud to walk that happy pup as I am to walk the statelier beasts.  So what if she can’t wrestle.

Bobbi

Bobbi

But some little dogs can wrestle.  Some can even pin 100 foot ogres and reduce them to wiggling, giggling fools. Bobbi did this to me.  She is a chihuahua schnauzer mix, which is all I knew of her as I put the key in her front door for the first time, and I did not then consider this information to be much in her favor. But oh, what a wonderful little creature she is!  While her brother Chet (another unlikely mix of little breeds) regarded me dubiously from his crate and refused to come out, little Bobbi pounced with ferocious affection.  To demonstrate to Chet that I was a friendly ogre, I tried a little dog body language, and lay on my back in the living room.  Chet was not impressed, but Bobbi hopped right on my chest and proceeded to try and lick every part of my face and neck.  I was vanquished, along with any little dog antipathy.  Imagine coming home every evening to a friend whose little body can’t contain all the huge happy emotions the very sight of you inspires, and having those emotions pore over you in unabashed animal glee.  Little dogs indeed.

Chet, however, never did come out of his crate, at least while I was around.  Little dogs still have big teeth, and I wasn’t about to try and pull Chet out of his safe place, in case he had some Badger in his lineage.  Bobbi and I walked alone while leaving Chet free to roam the house, go on a pee pad, have a drink, and maybe enjoy some me time.  When Bobbi and I got back, Chet had scorned the pee pad for the living room carpet and gone upstairs to hide under the sectional sofa.  Though I spent the first 15 minutes of the visit enraptured with Bobbi, I spent the next 45 minutes herding Chet from one hiding place to another, up and down stairs more times than I care to admit, and wondering (often out loud) if I was being punished for something.  Eventually I took it upon myself to rearrange some furniture to block off certain avenues of escape, and finally check-mated Chet into a situation where he either go back into the crate or approach and try and get by me.  I’m glad he chose the crate or else I might still be there, locked in a battle of wits with 10 pound dog. The outcome was never certain, and even in my moment of triumph I was still left with a lot of misplaced furniture to move. Little dogs indeed.

I don’t walk those two anymore.  Less ogre-ish walkers get all the Bobbi kisses, and Chet kisses too for all I know.  I’ve largely demolished the prejudice I had for microdogs, but I can’t help it if some choose not to meet me half way.  Granted half way is one step for me and about five for them, but there isn’t always time to work out an understanding between walker and walked.  There are trees to be marked and squirrels to be barked at, and I’ll gladly stand aside and let someone else get the little job done.  I’m gratified by my new little friendships, especially the ones that seemed so unlikely at first, like Abigale.  But it seems 20 minute visits just aren’t enough to win Chet over, and I don’t hold it against him.  Ogres have thick skin.

Ultimately, it was a revelation to me that little dogs are just like other dogs, only little.  They aren’t necessarily like cats for being cat sized.  They’re not puppies either.  They aren’t fragile little toys that can’t be played with, or effete diva dwarfs that survive only on constant pampering. They’re dogs.  Real dogs!  Just shrunken, as if with a ray gun.  Sometimes I’d like to have this ray gun to use on some of my more beastly beasts.  Just to simplify things.

Nonetheless, I still feel vaguely revolted at the sight of a mini canine head sticking out of a purse, or looking over a steering wheel.  But it’s the humans I question, and make me wish again for a shrink ray.  I still think the greatest pet I will never have is a perfectly tame grizzly bear.  I may never get over the dream of riding him around town, letting him humor me with daily wrestling matches, and playing sofa on movie night.  Big dogs offer a glimpse of the ego explosion that comes with familiarity with (and domination over) a powerful predator.  But I can take vicarious pleasure in little Bisou curling up in my arms when I carry her down a mountain of stairs, or Abigale trying oh-so-hard to jump into my second-story lap.  I’m their grizzly bear, and I’m just as tame, and as real, as they are.

 

Leashes, the most important tool

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Gotta have a leash, might as well have a fun one! 🙂

Leashes are the tools with which dog walkers practice their craft.  No other single item is as important.  Without shoes, our feet would quickly develop thick natural pads.  Without cars or bikes to get from house to house, we would become bus schedule masters and/or Olympic runners.  Without poop bags, we would either be jailed for littering or never shake anyone’s hand again.  Without keys and alarm codes, we would become cat burglars without the burgling (i.e. we’d remain dog borrowers, only stealthier).  Yes, whether nylon, cotton, hemp or leather, the leash is as essential to dog walking as the rope is to sailing.  In fact, with strong pulling dogs, the leash and sailing rope become effectively the same thing.  Why don’t they have an aquatic Iditarod with lots of Labradors pulling canoes? I’m sure labs and audiences would love it.  I’m losing my train of thought.

Train!  That is what we would have to do without leashes.  Every dog we walk would have to be like those fancy shepherd dogs that run precisely the direction of your choosing based on which part of “Frére Jacques” you whistle. Some of the dogs I walk, like smarty Miss Sally, have the intelligence and docility to pick up this trick, and yet we would still lack the time needed to practice, as well as lacking the open field full of sheep.  With some of the other dogs–no offense Biscuit–I’m lucky to get them to sit for a treat.  A field full of sheep would become a scene of such carnage that even National Geographic photographers would have to turn away.  And what if the field was full of squirrels?  It’s a horrific thought.

But not with a leash!  Leash technology is so effective that I’ve even seen it applied to wild animals such as tigers and children.  Some people even walk their leashed-up house cats, though these people are probably nuts.  Avid anglers are always trying to convince fish to attach themselves to a leash, but fish are so stupid that they don’t recognize a great tool when they swim past it.  Cowboys are famous for the way they attach leashes to cows.

Bungee jumpers are dedicated to sharing their most thrilling moments with leashes, and for an instant, they even love leashes as intensely as a dog walker. Kite flyers, yo yo artists, double-dutch jumpers and just about everyone in the world shares a common motto:  “from leashed to greatest!”

 

Doga Day for Charity is coming up fast on August 6th!!!

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Out-U-Go! and Boulder’s Natural Animal hospital are teaming up again on an awesome event for charity!  Doga, otherwise known as Yoga for Doggies, will be featured.  On August 6th from 1pm – 4pm, we’ll all be hosting the Doga Day for Charity, a fundraiser for the Humane Society of Boulder Valley.  For just $5 you and your pooch get:

  • A Doga lesson with Yoga instructor, Steph Schwartz, of the Bali Yoga Retreat
  • A massage for your dog by certified canine massage therapist, Lisa Simmerman, of Stella Earth
  • Fresh-baked dog treats from Paws Barkery
  • Grilled hot dogs, sodas, water, chips, and treats for the humans

What a deal, right?!  

This will be a great time for pups and people regardless of doga or yoga abilities and experience 🙂

When:  Saturday, August 6th from 1 PM to 4 PM

Where:  Outside of Boulder’s Natural Animal Hospital at 685 S Broadway in the Table Mesa Shopping Center

Who:  Co-hosted by Boulder’s Natural Animal Hospital (www.bouldersnaturalanimal.com) and Out-U-Go! Boulder (www.OUTUGO.com)

What:  A cooky, crazy canine event to raise funds for the Humane Society of Boulder Valley

Midwest Friendliness: Get away from my dog!

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I know, it's hard to resist these cute faces!

One of the really terrible things about the Midwest is that people are so golly goshdern friendly.  If you pass ten people on the street, you’ll likely hear five “hellos,” a couple “how are you’s” and everyone else will smile and nod. (With the exception of one person who is either distracted, cranky or foreign.) It takes a little getting used to, but once you’ve caught on it becomes imperative to reciprocate every greeting, and even initiate those that aren’t forthcoming, even if it means risking the shock of saying “howdy” to the one oddball that doesn’t respond.  That shock is indeed terrible, but other than that, all the friendliness is really only terrible when you’re walking happy, adorable animals while maintaining the strict no-petting policy.

Out-U-Go! teaches their Pet Sitters to stay away from other dogs and humans……and squirrels and rabbits and cars and orangutans and ogres (the training is amazingly intensive). It’s a sound policy and an easy one to embrace for the sake of liability and plain ol’ good sense. The difficulty comes in explaining company policy quickly to a person who, already slightly crazed with Midwest friendliness, is bowled over by my pup’s cuteness and comes charging across the street to smear their hands all over my poor pooch.  These people can come out of nowhere and are surprisingly quick, and since brevity is not my strong suit, I have some special tricks to keep them at bay.

One of these is to pretend that the dog at my side is pulling really hard, and say things like, “Easy girl! Stay down!”  This will cause most prudent people to reconsider coming too close to a wild dog. A few of the dogs I walk seamlessly pick up on the subterfuge and start pulling, lunging and wiggling like crazy.  Lizzie is a good example of this.  In fact you could say that Lizzie is a dedicated method actress who has never broken character for a moment.

Still, it’s amazing how many people are not deterred by an over-excited canine. Sometimes I’ll say to this person, “careful, he’ll get his muddy paws all over you.” This will keep the dapper friendlies away, but still there are those who are not deterred, especially if there is obviously no mud around, or conversely if there is mud everywhere, including on the would-be love assaulter.  For these kinds of bogeys, I have a special weapon – blatant lying.  I’ll tell them to “Stay back!  He’s not too friendly” or “Careful now, she doesn’t like to be touched.” This second one isn’t always lying, seeing as most of these overzealous fur fiends think noogies and ear pulling is endearing to a dog.  Such people deserve a quick lesson from several dozen pearly white tutors.  But if I let them get that lesson, I’d deserve to get fired.

A few examples:  Annie and Abigale weigh about 15 pounds combined and are so impossibly cute you want to curl up in a ball and suck your thumb.  Such creatures need lots of protection from everything (including hawks) and I provide this in a pinch by telling people–in as serious a voice as I can muster–to “watch out, they’re killers.” It’s easier to deter would-be petters when you’re walking a dog that actually looks kind of scary.  In that case all I need to do is also look kind of mean, and the friendly folks naturally keep their distance.  Dudley’s somewhat demonic features, when combined with a scowl from me, can create a 100 ft buffer zone for us to stroll through, which is especially important now that school is out and feral children are everywhere.

Of course it’s nice to not scare or scowl, and most of the time it’s possible to preserve the dog’s personal space just by avoiding people.  We can cross a street, take a wide arc across a lawn, or even turn around and walk the other way. But sometimes folks don’t get the message.  I was walking Sam the other day (which is to say that I was restraining him as he went bounding around) when we came upon an old man walking his own old dog. The street was too busy to cross and there were no side streets to turn onto, so I tried to go wide and give the man the sidewalk.  But this man was intent on our dogs meeting, and he turned wide to meet us.  I turned to make an arc the other direction, and he turned too. I pointed out the obvious fact that Sam was a little wild, but the man just said, “Meh, they should say hello.” So say hello they did, briefly, standing in someone’s front garden.  It was a quick and incident-free exchange (as most of them surely would be if they were allowed to happen), but I was left with the feeling of defeat, since I was practically cornered by this old man, and all my tricks and policies brushed aside by his inveterate friendliness.  That man has been saying hello for many decades, and was not going to be denied.  We continued walking down a lovely street on a beautiful day.  It was terrible.

 

Together Forever

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Mr. DaVinci

Caution: This blog entry is a tearjerker.

About two months ago I met a 10 year old Boxer named DaVinci. His mom needed help caring for him as she was working 7 days a week and her husband was in the hospital. She told me at the Meet and Greet that ever since her husband went into the hospital, DaVinci was just not acting like himself. He was sad…clearly missing his papa. You see, DaVinci and his dad were best buddies. They would hang out together watching TV or out in the garage as DaVinci’s dad was too sick to work. They gave each other great comfort.

For the next couple of weekends we fed and walked DaVinci. I had the pleasure of visiting him one beautiful Sunday afternoon. I fed him first and he was so excited for his food, he ate it all under a minute’s time. We then took a walk along a street where the other side is a forest preserve. He would walk some steps ahead of me on his retractable leash, stop and look at the forest, hearing noises and wondering what they were. Then when I caught up to him, he would do a hop and run up ahead again, stop and either look back at me or into the forest. He was super sweet and seemed so happy to be out on his walk!

About two weeks ago I received a call from DaVinci’s mom that she would not need our help anymore. DaVinici had passed away that Tuesday night. It was hard to hold back the tears as she told me he suffered a seizure and continued to experience two more seizures at the vet. About two weeks later, I stopped over at her house to return the keys and that is when she told me DaVinci’s dad had past away that following Friday. They were buried together as DaVinci was cremated and the beautiful urn with his ashes was placed in his father’s casket.

They are now together forever in heaven’s garage enjoying endless sunny days and blue skies.

Stormy Weather

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It’s been a crazy couple of weeks here in Denver! Having moved from the East Coast less than a year ago, I was expecting 80-90 degrees of dry heat from about June through September. Needless to say, the non-stop storms we’ve been experiencing have been a bit of a surprise. While it’s good to see the sprinklers (hopefully) turned off for a bit, the torrential downpours, terrifying thunder and lightning, and canoes making their way down Colfax have definitely been a bit much. It’s fair to say that it’s been raining cats and dogs!

Of course, as Pet Parents, our first thoughts in these situations tend to be “OH MY GOODNESS! IS MY BABY OK??” This was me last night, anyway, stranded at my friend’s house knowing poor Bosco was probably petrified (I even started to imagine regression into peeing or pooping in the house). When I finally did make it home, shivering and drenched, Bosco was just sleeping, seemingly unaware of the storm and quite puzzled as to why I was so wet.

While I know some dogs really are very much afraid of storms and bad weather, this incident reminded me of how inclined we are to forget true canine instinct. Sure, pups sleep in beds, eat packaged food, play with toys and, all in all, could not successfully make it on their own for more than just a few days. But, like us, they have experienced storms and rain and snow and natural disasters for thousands and thousands of years, both in the wild and as domesticated creatures and they’ve lived to tell the tale (tail?). I guess this was a reminder, at least for me, to respect and acknowledge the wild within our furry friends.

Stay dry everyone!

Gentle Leaders – a dog walker’s favorite tool!

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Gentle Leader!  Gentle Leader!  This is not only a Confucian ideal and a dream of the Arab Spring.  No, it’s also something far less important, if no less rare:  the perfect dog walking tool.  In over six months of walking dogs, I can honestly say I’ve used this magical implement exactly twice.  Both occasions were notable for the comfort and ease with which the dogs were gently led by me.  This is as you’d expect though, since the gentle leader is, in my professional opinion, the best thing on the market for people with dogs and arms who care about either.  I don’t mean to endorse the gentle leader product specifically–buy the counterfeit black market version, or make your own out of old shoe laces for all I care. You may find your pup reluctant to be bridled at first, but I think this is only partly because they’re uncomfortable (though surely no less comfortable than a collar with little prongs sticking into your doggy’s neck, the most popular method among my pup’s parents) and partly–mostly–because the dogs know that once that thing is on, their pulling and lunging days are over.  For as dogs, they intuitively understand the great fortune-cookie wisdom of the universe: control the head, and the body will follow.

Control the torso, however, and the dog will pull like a punctilious draft horse behind on his rounds.  Body harnesses are preferable to prong collars or choke chains in my book, but that’s only because I’m larger than the dogs I walk.  In some cases, like Annie and Abigale, both of whom wear harnesses and together weigh about as much as my shoe, the harness works well because if they pull and pull with all their adorable might toward an old pizza scrap or something, I can simply lift them up and set them down a foot away.  A crane operator couldn’t ask for a better cargo net.  In other cases, I’m only slightly larger than the dog, like Cooper the giant Goldendoodle.  Even in this case, the combo collar/harness gives me enough control to keep him from pulling me wherever he pleases, provided I center my chi, tie the leash to my belt and hug a street light.

But even then, the walker can still become the walked.  There is another important piece of equipment that connects to the thing that connects to the dog.  You guessed it:  the leash. And you guessed it: retractable leashes suck.  Most dog walkers agree and can’t get enough of talking about how they dislike them.  The flaws in the retractable leash approach are so myriad that I can’t even describe them all.

But let me try.

  • Your sweet puppy prince doesn’t stay to the left or right but rather goes back and forth and requires you to switch the retractable handle thingy from hand to hand lest you find yourself twisted like a pretzel and walking backwards.  Passing this thing from hand to hand is harder to do than with a simple leash, let alone passing two from one hand to the other when you’re walking two dogs that both switch sides.  If the dogs switch sides simultaneously while slightly behind you and then advance quickly to the next smell up ahead, you will quickly discover yourself to be a backward pretzel who is in a position where you must juggle little mechanisms, quickly and behind your back, being sure that the correct leash goes over or under, lest they become tangled near the retraction point and create a whipping line that will sever you at the waist.
  • You might drop one leash cover which will crash on the pavement with a loud crack which, if it doesn’t break the darn thing, will scare the dogs into flight, leaving you chasing a gun shy dog down the street with virtually no chance to grab the leash that has retracted to within six inches from his quickly escaping neck.
  • You can be walking along just fine, giving the dogs a little more room to roam (because that’s the point of the things, right?) when suddenly a loose dog or a half-rotten taco or a rabid rabbit springs out of the bushes and you have to not only trust the speed of your thumb or index finger to reach the lock button (depending on the model) but also hope that the small cog will actually be sturdy enough to lock the internal mechanism against the cosmic force of a lunging, surging, charging beast, and then instantly pull the dog in, quickly release the button, extend your arm and hope that the leash retracts faster than the dog can launch again, bring in some line and then repeat again and again, so that you look like some kind of fantasy warlock flapping your arms up and down the street while your canine minions froth at your side.  Is that what you want?

All of this happens every day, or would, if I were less of a pro. As it is, I get plenty of practice passing retractable leashes between hands (behind my back, over my head, between my legs, oh yes) every morning with Jackson and Poncho, two large energetic dogs who are used to dashing where they please.  Jackson, in particular, gets walked with out any leash at all by his owner (don’t get me started) and seems shocked every day to find that he can’t stray more than 30 feet from my side.  He’s lucky to get that far, ever.

Really, I like to give dogs as much leash as the environment and circumstances allow, and they’re obedient and mature enough to handle.  With some dogs unfortunately, this isn’t much.  Biscuit can have a lot of line unless we’re approaching a corner or alley or thing he shouldn’t get at. Dudley can have all the line he wants, because he’s old and doesn’t fight or chase anything (though he has been known to walk into trees and fences, poor guy).  Beau could have a lot of line because he always came when I called or pulled him in.  Poncho gets very little, because he wants to pursue and consume everything, even if it should happen to be beneath a moving car.  His retractable leash recently broke though (surprise!  I didn’t do it) and he’s been using a backup, normal leash.  Guess which I prefer?

I will say this for retractables:  dogs are less likely to step over them, and you can do the ratchet maneuver where you raise and lower your arm while stroking the flywheel (or whatever) with the cog by gently pressing the button, resulting in a loud ratchet sound which the pooch can hear and feel as small little pulses in the leash.  Dogs that are enjoying a good long sniff know that after the third ratchet, I’m pressing the button all the way and we’re off to find the next great smell.  It’s a pretty neat study in sensitization that most dogs I walk regularly don’t need to be pulled along much anymore; just the ratchet noise is enough to get them moving again.  It’s pretty gentle.

But not as gentle as the gentle leader!  That sweet face hugger is the gentlest leaderiest of all.  And it’s available for purchase at most major pet stores!  Wow!  Trust me, your dog won’t thank you.  At first.  And that’s a good thing.  But eventually he or she will catch on, and then when your neighbors see you and your dog floating down the street like Buddhas, they’ll go buy them too (or make them).  Then someday, maybe, I’ll gently lead a third dog. It’s my great trivial dream.

 

The Highlands Street Fair was AWESOME!

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The Highlands Street Fair 2011 was a blast!  This event gets better every year which is why we were so happy to help our friends down the road at Out-U-Go! Denver host an awesome booth.

Thousands of local residents toured 32nd Street in the Highlands to visit with a lot of the businesses from the area.  The Out-U-Go! booth was very popular- hundreds of people enter our raffle to win free dogs!

We’re already looking forward to next year!

Stay tuned for information about Out-U-Go!’s next awesome event- DOGA for Charity 🙂

Highlands Fair Recap

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We had a wonderful time at the Highlands Street Fair this past Saturday! The fun began around 10am as merchants and guests gathered together all along 32nd Street. Our booth was located between Newton and Osceola, right near the bouncy castles and slides!

We had some great help from our Pack Leader, Alex, as well as our Highlands’ walker, Treasure. Of course, Dan came down from Boulder to reconvene with all of the Denver Pet Parents. We got to meet a ton of awesome pups and people alike who all seemed to be enjoying the wonderful weather, delicious food, and fun atmosphere! Some of our furry friends definitely enjoyed taking a breather at our tent for some cold water and yummy treats since it did get quite hot at times! We also got some great participation in our raffle for 3 FREE dog walks! Stay tuned for winner announcements.

All in all, it was a pretty fantastic way to spend a Saturday in Denver! What else can beat puppies, treats (for humans and pups!), sun and most importantly, thousands of smiling faces? Thanks for stopping by and see you all next year!!

Tangled Leashes: Am I on Candid Camera?

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There’s that moment in the show when the poor hapless protagonist, be he a cartoon duck, a rascally Tramp or an oafish husband, is so exasperated by all the foolishness around him that he stops and looks right into the camera, inviting the audience–begging them, really–to intervene, sympathize, do anything to stop the inanity. The audience is thrilled to be in on the action, and we laugh and nod and say, “Yep, life’s crazy, hang in there buddy.”  Thus encouraged, our hero goes on to defeat the forces of stupidity and ensure that decency can maintain a precarious existence in the universe. But what would the protagonist do if there were no camera?  Where would he look?  Who would share his troubles?  I happen to know. He looks all around, at tree tops and shoe tops, and finding no cameras anywhere, he looks into the eyes of the dogs at his side. And yet he finds no consolation at all.

In my case, the source of my flabbergastation is that very dog.  Not to say that it’s the dog’s fault; in fact if it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine. But that doesn’t make it any easier.  Let me explain.

Some dogs have what I call “leash sense,” defined as an innate awareness they are connected via a continuous and impermeable strand to the person walking them.  Some dogs figure this out with experience, while others just seem to have the smarts.  Sally, for example, is smart enough to never put a tree between my arm and her neck, and if she should take a wrong turn she quickly backs up and rejoins me at my side.  Poncho seems to be trying to snare the trees with the leash, but he too remembers himself and can figure out which way to go to unwind. Morgan takes it to another level. She tends to step over the leash and also pull it so the pinch collar becomes crooked, but all I need to do is stop and hold the leash in front of her with some slack and she will lift a leg, dip a nose, do a twist and untangle herself with a quick little dance.  I beam with pride. Other dogs don’t have this gift.  For them, walking down the street is a delightful series of diversions (each getting about 0.2 seconds attention) occasionally interrupted by that guy who’s always following along and who somehow keeps getting himself tangled up in bushes and fence posts.  These dogs need watching, because they’ll dash all about in hot pursuit of smells and weave a leash web across the road that will ensnare cars, pedestrians and your will to go on. Buddi and Orecchio belong to this second category.

Let me set the stage.  Near a corner of a busy street, right where one straight line of apartments stops and the next row begins, there is a gap that forms to accommodate the curve in the street. Someone saw this little wedge of earth as a great place for a little lawn, filled in with some tall and somewhat aggressive bushes.  I don’t know how else to describe these nasty shrubs–you wouldn’t want to have to trim them, and any soccer balls that fall in their midst require the recruitment of friends and parents for elaborate rescue operations.

This happens to be one of Orecchio’s favorite places to poop, and since being able to write “#2” on the dog’s report card is sweet vindication for those trained in the art of canine ambulation, I begrudgingly let him enter his little jungle.  One day, however, he went in just as his co-Bulldog, Buddi, started attending to his own business on a little patch of grass on the other side of the sidewalk. I looked over to mark the spot so I could pick it up, and when I looked back, oh horror! ‘Rec had taken a right at the first bush, a left at the second and then tried to go through a third on his way back to me. The poor guy means well (unlike his brother), but he just doesn’t have the leash sense.  I stood a moment in deep thought, as if studying the Gorian knot.  I couldn’t reel him back in, and I couldn’t really go in after him and leave Buddi loose on the sidewalk.  But while I was absorbed the puzzle before me, Buddi decided to see what was up and walked right up to his little bro, taking a path that brought several more bushes into the equation. And this is when I look for the camera. Even a candid camera would do! Standing six inches from a vicious tree with arms stretched wide, connected by taught ropes to two strange creatures that stare at you as if you had any answers, you hope someone’s getting a laugh.  Or else you might just have to cry.

As I said, none of this is the dog’s fault.  It took longer than I care to admit, but eventually I figured out that since each dog was effectively tethered to several trees, I could let go of the leashes and not have to worry about anyone running off down the street.  This was a great opportunity to save myself.  I could go back to the house, leave a nice note explaining that the dogs are fine, just hanging out down the street, and then go curl up in a fetal position for a while.  But no, when I walk dogs we become like a unit of elite commandos, and no one gets left behind.  So I bushwhacked a bit, freed my captive canine comrades one at a time, and eventually continued with special operation codename “pottybreak.”  There were no unnecessary casualties. Or witnesses. And in hindsight, I am very, very glad there weren’t any cameras.