I take my little poodle Toby for a walk up and down our street twice a day. And before we leave, I call to him and say, “Come on, Toby. Let’s go yell at the neighbours.”
And we do, although I leave almost all the yelling to the little sparkplug at my feet. He always leads the way, something I have discovered 14 years too late you should never let a dog do, and barks his head off at strangers and most other dogs.
Toby is a known feature of our street now, and in spite of his crusty exterior, those who know the little dickens get a kick out of him. I always point out that while he is yelling his head off, his tail is wagging up a storm, so he is not angry. He just has a lot of announcements to make.
I have tried to think of something to compare these little adventures to. The best I can come up with is it is like walking down the street with a live “weed whacker” in your hand. We have one of those things. It weighs about the same as the dog, is just as noisy and sometimes has a mind of its own, and will go where it wants to go if you don’t hang onto it just right.
Fourteen years is a long time to carry a weed whacker down the street twice a day and there are times I would rather stay in my rocking chair. But I know the day is coming, and I know it will come too soon, when the whacker will be out of gas and will stop running for good.
Coincidentally, that will be the exact same time my overactive tear factory will open its doors and who knows when they will close again.
And after a month or two in my rocking chair, I will start strolling down the street again, the loneliest guy in my town.
©2020 Jim Hagarty
