I was out for a walk last night and passed some guy walking a small, fluffy white dog.  He stopped to rest in the shade of a tree and shouted across the street, “It’s too hot to walk!”  He didn’t say it in a let’s-share-the-misery kind of way, he was distinctly judgmental about it.  Like he strongly disapproved of my decision to go for a walk on a sunny, beautiful day.

I wondered how he was hoping I’d respond to his recrimination.  That maybe I’d dive under the nearest tree and fan myself while shouting my agreement across the street?  That I’d crumple to the ground and clutch my heart when I realized that yes, it truly was too hot to walk?  Apparently, I live on the surface of the sun.

I really miss Doc on these walks.  Whenever Wes and I pass someone walking a dog down the street we always get quiet for a moment.  I miss nagging him to heel, I miss watching him struggle not to chase the leaves down the street, I would be overjoyed to hear the clicking of his giant dog claws next to me against the pavement.  There are sweet summer days that just seem created for a good game of fetch, but I can’t bring myself to play it with him because he’ll gladly injure himself just for the thrill of chasing down a ball.

We still have our laughs, though.  I was reclining on the couch with my arms above my head last night and Doc, not looking first, decided to ram himself against my shoulder.  Except my shoulder wasn’t there, it was my armpit.  So there went Doc’s whole face, nose first, right into my armpit.  He was shaking deodorant out of his nostrils for a good minute or so.

Or Buns.  Oh my gosh, he loves Buns (the bunny).  He’s haunted by Buns, truly.  He saw Buns in our yard once, many months ago.  Away he went, tearing across the yard like his tail was on fire.  He didn’t catch Buns, of course, because Buns is very hoppity, but now he’s obsessed with chasing this bunny he saw many months ago.  Every time he goes outside he rushes out, chest out and tail wagging, scanning the yard for just a glimpse of a furry little bunny butt.

He never sees it, but that doesn’t stop him from trying.  Kind of like with us and our quest to be financially secure.  We have yet to actually see what that looks like, but we keep trying, tail wagging all the while.

2 thoughts on “Wagging

  1. The sun is a mass of incandescent gas which would melt your toes should you even think of sticking them out the door to take a walk. The earth is not a mass of gas and your toes will not melt thinking about or while actually taking a walk, even though it might feel as if they were going to. Ergo you do not live on the sun.

    Despite what your stupid neighbor might think. Also, if it’s too hot to walk, why was he himself out? Gah.

    One benefit of having a mostly inside dog, not having to give said dog two baths over the course of 3 days thanks to the overwhelmingly irresistible lure of eau de poo. Not that I had to do that this weekend or anything.

  2. -Blanche, That’s what I was wondering. My best guess is he was out to take his furry little creature for some exercise. The dog seemed comfy enough.

    GROSS They always roll in the stinkiest stuff, don’t they?! Doc loves goose poop (both for smell and eating) and rotting fish. SO SICK.

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