By Jim Hagarty
2014
Twice a day, every day, my little dog Toby takes me for a walk around the block. Weighing in at an awesome 12 pounds, the little guy nonetheless can muster up quite a bit of pulling power when he wants to – and he always wants to.
He’s a busy young fella on these strolls, with a lot to accomplish in a short time. There are people’s front porches to inspect and trees to water and the best days are Tuesdays when there are garbage cans and recycling boxes out by the curb. On those days, a dog’s nose can almost fall off his face with excitement because in those bags and cans are leftovers. Plenty of leftovers.
Of all of life’s little absurdities, sometimes this twice daily ritual strikes me as about as strange as they come. I walk along the sidewalk being dragged along on a leash by what amounts to a fluffy cushion with eyes, ears, nose and mouth. And legs. And more attitude than one of those all-in fighters, you know, the ones who jump into the ring and try to kill their opponent as fast as they can, spilling as much blood as they are able to along the way. Their own, the others guy’s. Who cares?
Before we leave the house, I have to dress this little creature in a sweater. He knows the drill now and pokes his head and legs through at the appropriate times. He has two really nice hand-woven sweaters, better than anything I have.
Toby poops and pees on command now, so we’ve come a long way. He knows if he doesn’t produce a couple of little brown logs, there will be no reward when we get home.
My dog is a barker. If he was human, he’d be a yeller. I should have named him Old Yeller, in fact. If the roles were reversed, and it was me being guided along on all fours at the end of the leash, I might accost the neighbours and strangers in much the same manner he does.
“Hey Dave,” I’d yell. “Got any treats at your place?”
Or, “Frank, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about this urine in the snow over here, would you? Smells to me like it could be yours.”
Or, I’d run up against a stranger and ask, “OK, who the hell are you to be walking down my street? Get outta here! NOW!!!”
If I saw that dastardly postal carrier coming my way I’d go berserk, of course, and yell, “You drop any more of that silly paper off at my house and I’ll bite your leg.” And then I would.
Of course, some people I wanted to get to know, I’d be a little friendlier to, as I’d asked them politely if they minded if I sniffed them up and down for a bit for no particular reason. And most of them would agree to the request. With some, I wouldn’t even ask. Just get right up close and personal.
“Would it kill you to shower now and then?” I might ask a neighbour after one of my inspections.
Yes, Toby is quite the adventurer and everyone on our street knows him now after the six years he’s lived here. Some like him, some tolerate him and some cross the street to avoid him – much like they do with his master I’m afraid.
But once in a while a newcomer will happen along, so strange he blows the little dog’s mind. Poodles are crackerjack smart but they do not have the sharpest eyesight of all the dogs in the world and so, the other night, the neighbours were treated to two minutes of wild, wild barking as a child’s snowman was given a good and proper scolding.
I would have done the same if I was cruising that low to the ground.
Can’t have snow creatures cluttering up the landscape.
