All posts tagged dog walk

Have you got the Time?

I forgot my phone at work. I also forgot my watch, from when I took it off for a gym class. I take my watch off for classes because A, I don’t want it to get sweaty and gross, and B, there’s a clock in the classroom, and I can read its reflection in the mirror while flailing along in some semblance of what the instructor is doing.

I check the time a lot. Sometimes, I check the time immediately after having just checked the time, to confirm that the time I thought I read was, in fact, the time that it actually is. I only just switched from a waterproof sports-proof indestructible watch (one that allowed me to leave it on through showers, swimming, hiking, and whatever else) to one that actually looks good. It ticks. It ticks so softly that I only ever notice it when I am lying in bed at night, my left arm tucked just so, up near my ear. It’s a strangely soothing sound.

My dad got it years ago. One of his coworkers used to go to New York on a regular basis, and this guy got it into his head that my dad wanted a knock-off watch. My dad never wears a watch. Instead, he asks someone who has a watch something like this: “It’s about 10 to 8, right?”

The person who has a watch glances at their watch, looks suspiciously at my dad, and replies, “Yes.”

Because he’s always right. And he never wears a watch.

He has no idea where his coworker got the idea that he was desirous of a watch. He just thanked him politely and stuck the Swiss Fake in a drawer until a few months ago when I was bemoaning the fact that I wanted an analog watch, but hadn’t found one I liked enough to buy yet. Change the battery, set the time and date, and bam. I sleep to the soothing tick-tick-tick of a watch whose face glows in the dark, just in case I wake up enough to want to know what time it is, but not enough to put my glasses on and read the time on the alarm-clock-radio I’ve had since I was 10.

What’s this all about? Well, it sets the scene for last night, when I realized, after pulling Gwynn out of the car and while heading towards Sadie’s house, that I didn’t have the time. I looked around, as though expecting to suddenly find myself in the kind of small town with a clock tower that you can see from practically anywhere in town. The kind of clock tower that bongs on the hour and half-hour, so that even though I might not know the time, I would know roughly where, in time, I was.

I went on a walk anyways. We walked to the middle entrance of the creek valley, and headed north, to the furthest entrance. The dogs raced around the field like it was the most exciting place. I threw the ball a few times for them and lost myself in the complete happiness of two dogs running. We headed back to the middle entrance, and I pulled back my coat to look at my wrist. Oh. Right.

Well, the sky isn’t all that dark yet, and it is still winter, so that probably means… something. Too bad I have about as much of an internal clock as I do an internal compass.

It was light enough that I could go down to the south entrance through the woods without finding myself in absolute darkness. It was a beautiful evening – the creek valley is protected from the wind, no one was about, and the dogs were staying out of the stinky creek, but still having a great time sniffling and snuffling through the underbrush.

By the time I reached the south entrance, the moon was high and bright in the sky, a narrow crescent not quite at the first quarter, so sharply defined that you could see the shadows and texture of the moonscape. I seriously considered heading back through the park to the middle entrance, just to keep the walk going a bit longer. The waspish hum of three cyclists as they dart past me, ninja-like in the darkness dissuaded me. The path ended near the highway, so chances were good that I would see (or not see) them again on their way back down. Someone needs to give them the memo about having a light and having a bell, and how it’s the law, but I’d rather not have it emphasized by a bike-dog collision.

It was getting a bit colder, anyways, though, so I headed home.

The whole walk took a bit longer than two hours. If I’d known the time, chances are I’d have gone back up the way I came in.

There might just be something to the whole ‘living in the moment’ thing.

16 Comments

by lexy3587 on February 28, 2012 • Permalink

Posted in Dog Stuff

Tagged Alarm clock, analog watch, Clock, dog, dog walk, dogs, exercise, life, living in the moment, pets, time, Time and date, walk, walking, watch

Posted by lexy3587 on February 28, 2012

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2012/02/28/have-you-got-the-time/

Letter from the B Hive

A letter to the devils-spawn busybody who upset my sister:

Dear Ass-face,

Can I call you Ass-face? I know we’ve never met, but I feel like I know you well enough to call you by your true name. After all, if it is your God-given (or would it be Satan-given?) right to shove your nose and your giant gaping anus-mouth into my family, then I really think we should be on a first-name basis. Oh, you don’t know who I am… right, well, let me introduce myself. Your kind (devil-spawned-stupid-people) know me as “You Bitch” (present!), or, “You can’t talk to me that way!” (but I can, and will), or “How DARE you!” (conversely, Ass-face, how dare you?). Great, now you’re feeling that dawning recognition – you’ve either met me or someone very like me – someone who doesn’t suffer fools easily, and, given the chance, will tear a strip off you, verbally.

Perhaps you don’t know why I’m writing to you. Well, of course not, after all, my sister isn’t anything like me – she doesn’t have a bitchy bone in her body, and can barely even pull off ‘snarky’ on her worst day. You didn’t actually meet her, so you wouldn’t know that she’s sweet, timid, and easily upset, even by stupid people (like you).

I doubt this description is letting the light go off in your head – after all, you’re rather dense (like lead), and you didn’t actually bother to stop and think before you acted.

If you had thought, before you acted upon your moronic instincts, you would have seen this scene:

A very petite and young-looking (my 21 year old sister looks about 13) girl is standing outside the public library with a dog. The dog is sitting staring raptly at the library. He is fairly well-groomed (though perhaps he’s too scruffy overall for that to be apparent), and if he were being starved or over-fed, the thick fur would mask that. FYI, he isn’t starved or stuffed, he’s at an ideal doggy weight. It is lightly raining, and he is staring at the library, and sobbing. Whimpers and louder noises that are best described as sobs are emanating from this dog that is sitting otherwise peacefully and relaxedly beside this girl, who isn’t doing anything but standing there. She is probably feeling a bit sorry for herself, since she is standing outside in the rain, and she really doesn’t like the rain. The dog doesn’t like it either.

Numerous other people have passed this very same scene, and have thought something along these lines: Poor dog, he’s so sad! Wait, there isn’t anything apparently wrong with him… maybe he just makes that noise… or maybe he misses the person that this little girl is waiting for. I can understand why they didn’t just tie him outside and both go inside. The little girl is being nice by waiting outside in the rain with her dog. Oh, wow, I’m well past them, and I’m going to resume thinking about my own issues…

Now you, apparently, got stuck on the poor dog, he’s crying and sad part of this, and then, your imbecilic thought process took you elsewhere, and you thought something along these lines: if the dog is crying, he must be hurt. That tiny young-looking girl is standing next to him, she must be the one to blame. She must be a cruel and terrible person, standing outside in the rain, not doing anything to that dog, while he cries so pitifully. And then, you opened your gaping anus-mouth, and shoved your giant beak of a nose right in where it doesn’t belong, and you spewed filth all over my baby sister.

You, from your high horse, and without any background information, sneered and glared and shouted “Dog Abuser!” at the girl standing in the rain holding the leash of her sister’s whimpering dog. And, just in case you actually think that what you said doesn’t have any impact, I‘d like it to be clear that it did hurt her, and that she is still upset by it.

Also, in case you have a soul (and I do want you to feel bad about this), she and my other sister were doing me a favour by walking the dog, because my epic run-in with gravity on Wednesday night left me barely-able to perform even a basic dragging-leg-zombie-walk for a few days. The library was part of that favour. They kept going even after it started raining, because they wanted to be helpful.

With that, I’ll leave you (hopefully wallowing in guilt), for now. But know this: if I ever get a hold of you, I won’t stop verbally lashing you until you’re a sobbing quivering puddle in a public place, as punishment for the bile you spewed on my sister.

Sincerely,

Latest Queen B in a LONG line of Queen Bs (who are all out to get you, even the dead ones)

“we bring the ‘iatch’ to the B hive”

9 Comments

by lexy3587 on May 9, 2011 • Permalink

Posted in Dog Stuff

Tagged dog walk, letter, mean, nasty woman, stupid people

Posted by lexy3587 on May 9, 2011

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2011/05/09/letter-from-the-b-hive/

Windmills and Weather

Don Quixote a la VanGogh, from freakingnews.com

Despite the fact that winter has returned in full force, I’ve really been enjoying the weather, and the walking that comes with owning a dog. The ferocious storm we had on Wednesday might have cancelled our trick class, but without Gwynn, I wouldn’t have found myself out in the heart of the storm, and that would have been a shame. In heavy snow and howling winds, we walked along the spit of man-made land that protects a small harbour, frozen-over even now. The docks are empty and make ominous groaning noises as they shift and creak in the ice. Not that you can see them, with the thick snow filling the air. The waves crashing into the rocks on the outside edge of the spit were deafening and huge. Even 10 feet away from the water’s edge, we were still getting hit by the spray. When the waves got close to shore they swirled black and purple, picking up the dark silt and sand from the lake-bed.

With Don Quixote’s fervour, Gwynn attempted to battle the waves, running towards the lake with a great show of ferociousness. Luckily, he isn’t nearly as courageous as he’d like to be, and he ran equally quickly away from the lake every time a wave crashed to shore. The walk was not without some terrifying moments of me running desperately towards the spot on the rocks where I had last seen him, shrieking his name and knowing that the wind was whipping my voice away in the wrong direction. Knowing also that if he did get in the water, I’d never see him again. But there he’d be, entirely dry, on a rock just out of my line of sight (and nowhere near the scary pounding waves), grinning and sniffing at the frozen ground.

"Canadian Coral"

Canadian coral (a brilliant and descriptive term used by a determined man with a camera who was braving the weather with camera in hand) lay in frozen and glistening splendour along the shore. Grass and scrub perfectly outlined in clear ice, slowly built up by the spray and the wind. Did I have my camera through all this? Of course not! We attempted to bring some Canadian Coral home, but the arm-length branch was reduced to a bare stub by the time that Tall Sister and I had reached the safety of home and found the camera. I think, in her artistic mind, she was considering dragging me back out into the teeth of the storm, camera in hand, to capture it on film. However much I enjoyed my time out there, though, there wasn’t a chance in hell of me repeating that drive or that walk, when my legs were so numb that I couldn’t feel my seat when I got into the car at the end of the walk. Oh yes… we wimped out of the half-hour walk to get to the park, and settled on driving there and walking out to the spit and back as the full walk. It might have been less of a walk than usual, but I know we wouldn’t have made it out to the park if we’d tried walking all the way there. I’m now determined to bring my camera on every outing, because it is always the camera-less trips that have fantastic photographic opportunities.

With that in mind, I brought my camera this weekend, when Gwynn and I went back to this area, for a nice long walk. It was entirely different from the stormy night, with hardly any wind and a perfectly clear sky. The calm cold lake was so crystal clear that you could pick out the individual pebbles on the bottom. Everyone else had the same idea as me, but with better equipment – the real photographers were out in force, the enormous long lenses of their fantastically expensive cameras waving gently in time with their strides, and being carefully tuned as they took photos of distant ducks – photos so close up, you could count the feathers on their faces. My photos were less intense, but my subject was far more personal.

With a far less terrifying foe, Gwynn went forth into battle. He padded forward, predatory, following the bare trickle of water pulling away from shore. He danced back out of harm’s way as the water changed course and lapped back up the shore. He repeated this at various spots down the rough sand and pebble shoreline, as the water charged towards him and then retreated just as gently and abruptly. Apparently waves are not one of the things dogs instinctually understand. Then he fumbled - a hesitation that was enough to give the water an opening – before he knew it, he was wet up to his dewclaws. Skittering back a few feet from the water, he looked at me in absolute horror, as if to say, “How is this even possible?!”

With fierce determination, he ran back to the water. With lion-like courage, he smacked both front legs down, from toe to elbow, aiming for a death-blow. He smacked his forearms down where the water had been. Where it would have been, had the waves not been going out. He smacked his forearms down on the soggy sand and then danced back out of the way of the water’s immediate retaliation.

He tried this again, and again, skipping backwards less and less until he had all four feet in the water and was splashing about with gusto. The battle was begun. He spun, he clapped his paws down, he trotted and skipped and bit at the water. He lashed out with his hind legs, digging at the sand beneath the water and bounding up onto partly submerged rocks.

He didn’t get fully submerged, only soaking himself from the belly down. This made him look kind of like a furry muffin, and kind of like a very very fat dog with scrawny legs. The mighty warrior eventually grew bored of his foe, and pranced off to the grass to thoroughly shake himself off. Triumphant, he trotted home with me, his Sancho, head high and tail up and waving banner-like.

2 Comments

by lexy3587 on March 29, 2011 • Permalink

Posted in Dog Stuff

Tagged canadian coral, dog, dog walk, don quixote, snowstorm, swimming, water, windmill, winter

Posted by lexy3587 on March 29, 2011

http://goneforawalk.wordpress.com/2011/03/29/windmills-and-weather/

My Spidey Senses are Circling!

A walk yesterday reminded me of my pre-Gwynn dog walking experiences. Gwynn is normally very quiet (a fact for which I’m very grateful), and his barking usually consists of a high-pitched whiney bark at other dogs in the park when they won’t play with him, or when he can’t catch them. He’s a big wuss. Yesterday, he brought out his deep manly bark, jumping and darting backwards on the leash, half playful, half thoroughly spooked, leaving me 100% baffled. What was he barking at? A friendly couple I ran into in front of their house, a few blocks from my home. He runs into plenty of people who don’t have dogs with them but still want to pet his rock-star hair-do, and get a good close look at his pink nose while showering him with compliments. This time, however, instead of grinning his big goofy grin, wagging his big goofy tail and soaking in all the attention, he twisted and jumped backwards to avoid being touched, and he slapped his paws on the ground, bum up, tail flagging, like he would if he was encouraging another dog to play. And he barked his deep bark, the one I rarely ever hear, the one that makes him sound grown-up and far more intimidating than you’d expect of a dog with his goofy-cotton-ball appearance. He acted, simultaneously, like he was terrified of the people, and like he was trying to play with them as though they were dogs. I’m pretty sure it must have been because they smelled like other dogs(their own), and it confused him that they didn’t have the dogs with them, because I wasn’t getting any creepy vibes from these people. And I’m a very paranoid person – my imagination brings up the worst possible situation I can think up on a regular basis. So, while I think Gwynn’s spidey senses have not yet been refined enough to entirely trust, yesterday’s encounter brought to mind my walks with Sadie, the sweet blonde mystery-lab.

I walked her twice a week (and still do), pretty much rain or shine, and learned A LOT about dogs, and about my own commitment to my future dog’s well-being. If you’ve never had a dog before, and are unsure about your commitment (to walking your new dog in all kinds of weather, to dealing with poop-pickup, to the less fun aspects of dog ownership)… I highly recommend taking care of other peoples dogs. But that’s not what I wanted to talk about.

I wanted to talk about walking Sadie in the winter. It’s dark when I get home from work and darker when I drop her off at the end of her walk. Her owners live about 10 minutes away from an access to the creek-valley, which is a great place to go for letting a dog run around a bit off-leash. Great, except that, in the winter, it is pretty dark, very isolated, and kind of ominous. It isn’t the kind of place I would walk through alone once it starts getting dark, but being with a dog makes all the difference.

Having a dog with you is like having a security blanket. As sweet and gentle as your dog might be, people around you don’t know that, unless they’re people you already know. Rather like carrying a realistic looking fake gun, you’re holding the leash of a dog that may or may not be fierce and protective. But without the likelihood of someone calling the cops because there’s a nutcase with a gun walking through the neighbourhood.

Walking with a dog is also kind of like having a divining-rod that tells you whether a person is a good or bad-egg. Now, I know I had some pretty disapproving words for Red, and his smarmy “My dog is a good judge of character” comment, but it is true that dogs have an entirely different perspective than people do.

Walking through the dark creek valley with Sadie off-leash and ghosting quietly through the woods, most of the people I ran into were dog people. The rest of them were just walking through, having, for whatever reason, chosen to take the dark and ominous route to their destination. Sadie never reacted with anything but cheerful exuberance when we crossed paths with a dog person. These are people we’ve met before, with dogs she’s played with before, and nothing to be worried about. With most of the people without dogs, Sadie was cautious (because they were strangers, and she is a fairly timid dog), but not concerned. They just weren’t all that interesting, since they didn’t have treats or dogs with them. And then there were the very very few people she picked out as ‘the enemy’. This quiet, sweet natured puppy would circle those people, hackles up. She didn’t growl or bark, she didn’t snap at them, but I can only imagine how creepy it would be to have this ghostly dog circling you until you were past her owner (owner is what I’d look like to them, since I don’t wear a neon sign saying “just walking, don’t own”).

I have an over-active imagination when it comes to things going wrong. I get uncomfortable if a person appears to be following me, especially when it’s dark out, or if they’re doing anything I’d consider unusual. I have, at my most paranoid, fumbled with my keys while walking up a random driveway, and I have taken some very convoluted paths in order to establish whether or not someone is following me. Fine, sure, you took the same left as me, but will you take the next left as well? And the one after that? You just circled a block with me – AAARGH! STALKER!!! Picture that with me walking and someone in a car, and you can see why my attempt at early morning jogging in high school was abandoned so quickly.

So, when this dog I’ve already known for over a year changes from friendly puppy to silent warning, I get a bit uncomfortable. And when she circles a person in that way, clearly warning them to stay away – “Yeah, keep moving, buddy!” – I don’t say anything. I don’t call out, “don’t worry, she’s friendly”, or “Hi, how’s it going?”, or “Nice night”. I don’t say anything that might make Sadie stop doing this thing that she’s doing, because my imagination has grabbed hold of the reins, paranoia ramped to 10, and I don’t want to find out why Sadie doesn’t like this person. The world isn’t always a friendly place, and so I let them walk past me in silence, and keep a sharp eye out in the woods for the remainder of my time on the trail.

This is just a glimpse into my crazy-paranoid side. The part of my mind that assumes that people really are out to get me. Before the criticism about judging people based on their appearances starts, let me just say… it isn’t like the only people I get this vibe from are tough-looking or hulking. Sadie did react poorly to an intimidating biker-looking gentleman while on leash once, but he said himself that his dog (not present) was vicious, which kind of says something about the person who trained it. But the people we run into in the creek valley are a wide assortment, and the people she has given the circle-treatment to (very few people), wouldn’t fall into the ‘typical movie bad-guy’ category. And she has, happily, sat leaning against some pretty intimidating looking guys while they coo over her and scratch behind her ears.

It’s entirely possible that I’m nuts for reading so much into a dog’s opinion of a person, but it is comforting to know that I’m the only one in that kind of situation who knows that I’m just carrying a realistic looking water gun.

What are your thoughts about this? Can dogs tell more about a person and their intentions than we can? Or am I just a nut-bar who lets my dog get away with circling an innocent stranger in the dark woods?

St. What? Oooooh… right.

This week has been hectic and full, and my realisations that St Paddy’s day was coming up, and then actually ‘today’ were few and far between. It was like trying to catch a tiny wriggly green eel one-handed. I’d have it for a moment – heading out the door yesterday morning, I thought, oh… St Paddy’s day… I should be wearing green… but I’m not, and I’m late, meh, and didn’t think of it again until sometime later that day when a co-worker wished me happy St Paddy’s day. “Oh… right. You too!”… and then the little bugger of an idea twisted out of my grasp, and I forgot about it entirely. I remembered it again when a friend texted me the same wishes, but the eel was slippery and wormed its way out of my grasp again. I’ll admit, I didn’t attempt to make plans with friends to go drinking… this week has been one of those always-exhausted weeks, and taking precious sleep time away to go to a loud crowded place didn’t sound appealing.

Helping my sister house-sit for my neighbour’s not-so-friendly dog has been part of the hectic-ness of this week. Mostly, it just requires me to go walk him at about 10 at night, because my sister isn’t comfortable dealing with the ‘keep him away from other dogs’ game at night. It’s harder for the other dog walking people to recognise him as ‘That Dog’, and therefore harder to avoid people at enough of a distance that the dog doesn’t explode in angry barking and growling. He’s got about a 30 foot radius of anger… once the other dogs crosses that line, you’d better have him on very short leash, because he’s in full berserker rage.

So… without any inkling of the slippery green eel of thought, I headed out at about 10 to walk down my street, pick up the elderly dog, and take him on a short walk up and down my street. Because of the exhaustion I’ve been feeling all week, and because they are enormously comfortable, I was already in my flannel PJ pants. My pale blue flannel PJ pants with little penguins on them were what I was wearing when I crossed the path of a crowd of drunken college students all doing their best to pretend that they’re not completely tanked.

Nothing like animal print pants to make you feel like you're 5 years old again!

Ooooh… RIGHT… St. Paddy’s Day, I’m thinking, as the first drunken girl ignores her friend’s advice to be quiet, and gives me a huge faux-sober “HELL-LO, Nice Night”, while giggling hysterically. Her other friend joins in with a “Pleasant evening for a walk, isn’t it?” to ensure I’m positive that they’re smashed… and probably underage, because only underage people try that hard to hide drunkenness. I hope they don’t puke on my lawn, I’m thinking. And why the hell did I have to be wearing flannel, tonight, of all nights? Oh my god, I’m SO OLD!

How is it that I’ve come to this? Being flannel-clad and bound-for-bed at 10pm on St Paddy’s Day? Where was my green clothing? Where were my green crepes? Why the hell aren’t I drunk? Why couldn’t I have run into these people AFTER I picked up the dog? Then my pj-pants would at least make more sense!

These are the things I pondered while trudging down the road with the dog, scanning the area outside his ‘anger bubble’ to make sure no innocent-bystander-dogs are headed towards us.

Who the hell takes their entire posse on a late-night-dog-walk?! Why the hell didn’t I change into my jeans again before coming outside? Is what I’m thinking when I run into (well… across the road from me, because the dog is too violent to be on the actual sidewalk, when other dogs are on it) a group of 6 people (all older than me, and all doubtlessly with more plans for the night than I had) walking two dogs. Just in case they didn’t notice that I’m clearly not dressed in grownup-and-outdoors clothing, I bend over, back to the crowd, to try and stop the dog from entering full berserker mode and starting every other dog in the vicinity barking.

Hope everyone had a happy St. Paddy’s Day.

To the Library… AND BEYOND!

Last night, I went on a bit of an adventure. Gwynn and I left for our evening walk, loaded with books in need of returning, treats, the training leash, and a plan to practice the Come command somewhere new. Somewhere new would be the school yard of a school I’d never been to, in a neighbourhood I generally only drive through, right near Tall Sister’s friend’s house. It being near the friend’s house is only an advantage because it meant I could tease Tall Sister about her conviction that I’m stalking her friends. She started thinking this after I had pointed out a third house for sale (or that I wanted to be for sale) that happened to be adjacent to yet another of her friends’ houses. It’s pretty much the only reason I know where any of her friends live.

Back to the plan at hand – trek to the library, go past the library into a different neighbourhood (that is, GASP!, north of the main street, and therefore not my neighbourhood, which is on the south side), train the dog to be amazing at the Come command, dazzle strangers with his recently-bathed clean-and-fluffy look. Did I mention that Short Sister and I did battle against the stinky side of dog ownership on Sunday? Resounding success, he has white legs again, and smells of baby soap, instead of swamp.

One thing I’ve noticed about walking Gwynn is that random strangers are more likely to address him than they are to address me. A trio of teenage boys, walking in that teenage-boy-too-cool-for-life way, walked past me, fully intending (I think) to pretend that I wasn’t actually there. The closest one to me, however, couldn’t resist the force of my dog’s gravitational field. The surly teenager look of bland indifference (Too COOL! Lol) was wiped from his face, replaced by the “Awwwwwwww, SO CUTE” expression people acquire when looking at babies and puppies (and my big fluffy puppy). He strayed from formation (standard teenage boy flying V shape… like in the Mighty Ducks, only without skates) long enough to bend over Gwynn clucking softly, before darting back into position and resuming his original expression. “Nah, man, I didn’t stop for that dog, I had to tie my shoe!”

Moving past the library, I discovered that this other neighbourhood is very different from my own. Or maybe it was just the people I met while there that is skewing my perception.

I ran into a series of dog people, all apparently determined to undermine the other dogs’ positions as ‘friendly and playing with Gwynn’.

Doodle Couple and I met at a street corner, and, while the dog was a bit older and not inclined to bounce around quite like Gwynn, he was friendly, and so were his owners. Along comes a bit of an odd character with bright red hair and a long red beard (tied into a chin ponytail with an elastic), with a tall roan dog. Before he gets within hearing distance, the Doodle Couple are edging away, and mutter to me, “that dog’s a pit-bull mix, be careful”.

Well, I’m not one to judge a dog based on what breed it is, especially since the few mean dogs I do know are not the breeds you’d expect them to be. Since Red and Roan are hustling towards us, I shout out my standard “Is your dog friendly?”, which gets a yes reply. Apparently not sufficient to the Doodle Couple, as they put on a very good ‘look at the time, oh my, we must get going’ show, and ran off down the street.

Roan (the boxer-German shepherd-Rhodesian ridgeback) plays well with Gwynn, a bit of rough play, but never giving me any concern about Gwynn’s safety. Soon another woman comes up, with another mystery-mix dog. As she crosses the street, she calls out in a British accent hat her dog is friendly (great!), and a puppy (also great!). As she heads towards us, Red leans in and says that this dog doesn’t seem all that friendly to him. He winds Roan in tight on her leash (remember how much more nervous a dog that can’t move at all feels, as mentioned in my last post?), and backs up a bit. As soon as mystery-mix and his Brit owner get within sniffing distance of Roan, the previously friendly Roan flips out and starts growling and barking. Red and Roan head off down the street, after he lets loose with the snide comment of “Yeah, my dog is a real good judge of character”.

What?! Did Red fail to notice which dog was tail-wagging and which dog was suddenly aggressive and growling? Also, I have to say, dogs read a lot into body language – what does he think he’s telling his dog with his body language when he’s already decided that the other dog must not be friendly? He’s communicating that things aren’t safe, beware! Also, Red… I gotta say – you’d think you’d be less judgemental of dogs when I bet you get a lot of people reacting badly about your pit-bull-looking dog. If my orange cotton-ball causes people to cross the street when they see us coming (or maybe I’m just that tough looking?), I bet your dog gets even more of that reaction. People are prejudiced, and your dog looks tough, even though she was friendly with Gwynn.

Well, of course, Brit and Duke (the German Shepherd-Lab mix) are left with me, and Brit looks like she just got slapped. Obviously, with that kind of parting shot – kind of hard to take it as anything but what it meant. But she’s looking at me for an explanation, because I’m the only other person present, and vaguely associated with Red. Gee, thanks Red!

She proceeds to abuse the clearly violent nature of Roan, and the clearly stupid nature of Red, and explain to me in detail how well trained her dog is, and how he’s usually off-leash, which is why he pulls on his leash (which apparently could be construed as violent and aggressive), and how sweet her dog is. Meanwhile, Duke and Gwynn are exchanging some sniffs and generally enjoying each other’s company. Duke is a bit timid, but friendly. I spent a few minutes reassuring her of this, and she went on her merry way.

And, of course, both Red and Brit mentioned the places they take their dogs to be off leash in the area, clearly inviting me to join friendly dogs (and not dogs like that guy/gal have, which are just plain mean!)… Nod and Smile, Alex, NOD AND SMILE, but agree to nothing. Gwynn and I hurried back down to the main street. I think I might stick to my own neighbourhood for a while. Apparently there is some kind of competition going on North of Main Street, and the winner gets Gwynn’s exclusive-doggy-friendship for their dog. Gwynn really just wants as many buddies as possible, preferably (for my sake) with owners who don’t say snarky things about each other behind each other’s backs (or to their faces… seriously, Red, that wasn’t very classy of you). Gwynn and I didn’t get to practice the Come command, but we did get to practice common courtesy and meet a few nice dogs and their slightly judgemental owners.

So… a few things about Pit Bulls that I found in a brief Google search (despite not having actually met one on my walk yesterday), because dog fear seems to come down to this breed as often as not. Did you know that the pit-bull used to be referred to as “America’s nanny-dog”? The family pet on “Little House on the Prairie”, the dog on “The Little Rascals”, and Helen Keller’s companion dog were all a form of Pit Bull(there are a few breeds that fit into that title). They work as therapy dogs and in search and rescue work. Some of them are mean and violent, but you can say that about any breed. I met someone the other day whose only previous encounter with an Aussie-doodle was a dog that got kicked out of his dog’s obedience class because it bit one of the other dogs. Sounds a lot like my friendly laid-back puppy, right? Ya, not so much. Not trying to rant or preach, I swear. It’s just that yesterday’s experience was such a ridiculous series of prejudices, it was hard to believe. Train your dog. Socialize your dog. Whatever breed it is, being a responsible pet owner will help to ensure that the dog is safe to have around people and dogs. As for breed specific legislation? Better to create an ownership licensing process, because it’s better for people to be aware of the potential danger of any dog than to judge a dog’s temperament based on how it looks.

Gone for a Walk

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