Dog Days

Dog Days are here again, not that I mind them. Really. I had a little more than two weeks without them when I went to California over Christmas and New Year's, not to remind myself of the eight hundred dollar pick up charge at the kennel: ouch! Pooch Ouch! Two weeks without being awoken from a deep sleep by paws on the edge of the bed, the sound of toenails clacking over wood floors, the happy whapping of an excited-to-see-me tail on the wall or the comforter after they wheedled me, half asleep, into lifting them up. Two weeks without snapping on leashes, looking for plastic baggies, patting my pockets in the eternal quest for keys, cell phone, my wallet before marching out the door. The fact is, aside from the interuptions and the a.m. intrusion into my dreams, it is usually enjoyable to get outside in all sorts of weather and do a 15 to 30 minute loop around The Hill, once I am there. It is a thrice daily duty, to see that duty calls out of doors and not within.

I have to pay attention. Primarily because these dachshunds are so aggressive, I need to steer across a street or turn around, or just rein them in tight whenever I see other dogs. They just go ballistic, from excitement or fear, I'll probably never know. What I know from past mistakes is that they should never get too close. And sometimes they will lurch after garbage trucks. They think that trucks are great big dogs, or something. They go absolutely nuts over them, and it's the same for squirrels. I have to pay attention to glass on the sidewalks. It constantly amazes me about the quantity of smashed bottles we walk through. How can people do this to their own figurative, if not their literal backyard? And of course there are the dead animals my dogs will either eat or attempt to roll on, should I miss seeing them first. And their impulse to eat poop when they find it within reach, "coprophagy." Disgusting; they lick me all the time. It can be quite dangerous to be distracted or to think, at least until I have my bearings. And then there are the sudden stops, when one of them tries to wipe his halter off his head, or when he decides to defecate, almost on the fly. That's where the baggies come into play. Or if not him, then she does. Everything is times two. Three times every day.

I heard recently that twenty minutes of walking kept 40% of the seniors in a test group from getting Alzheimer's. Hey, I'm walking! I have also heard that an hour's walk is startlingly close to an hour's run in terms of calories burned, though it frankly does not make sense that this could be so. The walk also gets me out of the house, and you know the expression about kitchens and heat? A walk with the dogs can be like salvation. Either way, I am going to catch some shit, it seems pretty evident. So the party's over and dog days have returned. The mornings are not as dark early; evenings come slower and later. I am getting to know the 'hood of College Hill and pass pleasantries with neighbors I might not otherwise meet. Dog days have returned. I might as well enjoy them!