Stumbling around the neighborhood
FriscoDog has always been, well, male -- which means that a major part of his existence consists in exploring whatever neighborhood we live in, sniffling out other male dogs' calling cards, and leaving graffiti of his own to mark territory.
When we moved into our current home, a year ago, we did a great deal of late-night walking. Frisco would wander out into the night, back and forth out of my vision, eagerly seeking out scents to cover and crannies to investigate. I'm careful to make him deposit his solid waste where I can see it and clean up after him, but for the rest I let him be a dog. I made sure he was close enough that I could always call him back to me if he wanted to stray too far, but otherwise I simply walked at a slow pace and let him keep up with me at his will.
Last night, he seemed to be feeling well enough that I took him out for another neighborhood stroll in the pre-dawn hours, after I'd done my writing for the night. He rummaged around the house to find a racquetball (got to have one in his mouth), then followed me out the door.
Frisco hewed far closer to me than has ever been his norm. He tumbled off eagerly in one direction or the other, but always tumbled back before I'd moved on too far. He left plenty of calling-cards, He dropped his ball and lost it within the first ten minutes, which is the norm. (If you want to own a golden retriever, count on a dollar a day in lost racquetballs. I don't exactly know why the ball MUST come with us, and MUST be dropped, but I clearly don't make the rules.)
Our neighborhood has been under sewer replacement, as the Powers That Be have decided to annex us and replace the septic system that seemed to service people just fine, and one result has been that the streets are all chewed up and filled with potholes and badly-filled gulches. Frisco tripped over the pocked pavement several times, but don't hold that against him: so did I.
We took a short circuit, and I guided him up the hill back to our house. He was panting mightily, and having his problems with mobility, so I gave him a chance to go back home if he wanted. He wouldn't do it: as I walked toward the house, he stood defiantly in the middle of the street. I told him he was dumb, but I walked with him around a couple of extra blocks. He stumbled over curbs, fell flat on his side while trying to pee on a bush, and bumped into an electric pole -- but he wouldn't stop walking.
This is a nice, old-fashioned neighborhood filled with houses like your Grandma and Grandpa lived in, with manicured yards and lower-middle-class cars in the driveways. But we are not so very far from a fairly sketchy housing project. We walked that way, past houses of diminishing value, and Frisco marked them all without discrimination.
As we walked through a small park of questionable character, a very drunk black man approached from the other direction. Frisco hugged my side protectively, but licked the man's hand as he passed us by. That's the kind of "guard dog" he is: protective, kind of.
We circled back around to the house, and I gave him the option to keep walking a few more blocks. As I was asking him if he wanted to keep walking, he flopped over on his right side, down the entrance of a deep gutter. (I might have lost him for good, if he weren't such a big dog!) He labored himself back up to his feet, and pointed toward the front door. I took him back inside and gave him a bowl of ice cream with chopped strawberries on top, and he settled down unsteadily next to the couch. I heard him going "yip, yip, yip" in his sleep, kicking his back legs, perhaps dreaming of disarming our drunk neighbor.
He's definitely not the dog he was a year ago, when this walk would have been a mere appetizer, but he's walking on his own, he's playing his territorial pack-dog role, and he's protecting his Dad. He's still loving life, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it.
Robert
When we moved into our current home, a year ago, we did a great deal of late-night walking. Frisco would wander out into the night, back and forth out of my vision, eagerly seeking out scents to cover and crannies to investigate. I'm careful to make him deposit his solid waste where I can see it and clean up after him, but for the rest I let him be a dog. I made sure he was close enough that I could always call him back to me if he wanted to stray too far, but otherwise I simply walked at a slow pace and let him keep up with me at his will.
Last night, he seemed to be feeling well enough that I took him out for another neighborhood stroll in the pre-dawn hours, after I'd done my writing for the night. He rummaged around the house to find a racquetball (got to have one in his mouth), then followed me out the door.
Frisco hewed far closer to me than has ever been his norm. He tumbled off eagerly in one direction or the other, but always tumbled back before I'd moved on too far. He left plenty of calling-cards, He dropped his ball and lost it within the first ten minutes, which is the norm. (If you want to own a golden retriever, count on a dollar a day in lost racquetballs. I don't exactly know why the ball MUST come with us, and MUST be dropped, but I clearly don't make the rules.)
Our neighborhood has been under sewer replacement, as the Powers That Be have decided to annex us and replace the septic system that seemed to service people just fine, and one result has been that the streets are all chewed up and filled with potholes and badly-filled gulches. Frisco tripped over the pocked pavement several times, but don't hold that against him: so did I.
We took a short circuit, and I guided him up the hill back to our house. He was panting mightily, and having his problems with mobility, so I gave him a chance to go back home if he wanted. He wouldn't do it: as I walked toward the house, he stood defiantly in the middle of the street. I told him he was dumb, but I walked with him around a couple of extra blocks. He stumbled over curbs, fell flat on his side while trying to pee on a bush, and bumped into an electric pole -- but he wouldn't stop walking.
This is a nice, old-fashioned neighborhood filled with houses like your Grandma and Grandpa lived in, with manicured yards and lower-middle-class cars in the driveways. But we are not so very far from a fairly sketchy housing project. We walked that way, past houses of diminishing value, and Frisco marked them all without discrimination.
As we walked through a small park of questionable character, a very drunk black man approached from the other direction. Frisco hugged my side protectively, but licked the man's hand as he passed us by. That's the kind of "guard dog" he is: protective, kind of.
We circled back around to the house, and I gave him the option to keep walking a few more blocks. As I was asking him if he wanted to keep walking, he flopped over on his right side, down the entrance of a deep gutter. (I might have lost him for good, if he weren't such a big dog!) He labored himself back up to his feet, and pointed toward the front door. I took him back inside and gave him a bowl of ice cream with chopped strawberries on top, and he settled down unsteadily next to the couch. I heard him going "yip, yip, yip" in his sleep, kicking his back legs, perhaps dreaming of disarming our drunk neighbor.
He's definitely not the dog he was a year ago, when this walk would have been a mere appetizer, but he's walking on his own, he's playing his territorial pack-dog role, and he's protecting his Dad. He's still loving life, and I'm thrilled to be a part of it.
Robert
posted by Unknown at 2:52 AM
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