|Me and My Red Backpack|
I am in all of my elements. I'm finally getting these really long walks every morning. And if you haven't seen me leash-walk, you're missing one of the key components of happiness. Perhaps the most important thing next to food, if you want my opinion.
Now, you know I am not one for sucking up the compliments, or looking to praise and fame for fulfilling my essential dog's nature. Oh no, not me. But how, I ask you, can I ignore the compliments that are constantly coming my way? I am surely the toast of Harvard Square, and anywhere else I've been seen lately. "That's the best dog I've ever seen," and, "That's the best trained dog in the world!" "Can I take her picture?" "May I approach her?" these last two when we've (meaning me) been seated. That Person is working the dickens out of me and don't I love it? We are walking in tandem, we two. I sit automatically at each curb. I am so focused. I am the Zen primal walker! After years of watching my man, Cesar Millan, She finally figured out that I actually do need the pack-walk every single day. Her wind was not what it should have been at first.We started out with only 45 minutes, felt more like seconds to a young and beautiful rambler such as myself. Now we're up to almost one and a half hours. Better, but God! I have listen to Her on on that phone everyday telling everything about Herself to whoever will listen. Believe me, that list keeps getting shorter and shorter by the day. Strangely, I do believe She's going to keep up these walks. Who wouldn't want to walk with me for an hour and a half. Now I hear Her talking about turning me into a 'Therapy Dog". Of what this consists I can only imagine with great trepidation. A new haircut? Will I still be an Airedale? What's the use of thinking about it before it happens, something That Person doesn't know how to do! So today's picture is of me on my lunch break over by the Beantown Coffee Shop. She got this huge cheese sandwich. I got some cut-up roast beef and had projectile diarrhea in the yard as soon as we got home. Alas, after that stunt I never got one of the meaty bones we bought at PetCo.
For next time I will overcome my dismay and work up the courage to talk about how That Person is playing--if you can call it that!--the guitar. Great walks, bad music. What a life! Where's Philip Glass when you need him?
And hey! Who's this Airedale called "Joe"? What's the use of trying to figure out everything I overhear?