Went for a great walk the other day with the dogs. Every walk is a great walk, usually, but this one was super because I finally remembered the camera!
Harriet, at 16 years old, is very sad that I make her walk. I also don’t love her, nor does Lala, and neither of us ever feed her or rub her belly. Ever.
They make me walk on stones in the cold. Oh, my bones.
Or maybe she’s LYING:
She is very tall on the picnic table.
She might ignore me and the camera for a minute:
But she can’t ignore me forever.
That might be too much loving, really.
I would have taken more pictures of Clara, but really she’s just a blur. I caught this as she ran past, drool flying in wild strings from her jowls, racing after the next dog — always the next dog is the best dog, the only dog, the dog that will make all her games-of-tag dreams come true:
HI! HI! HI! BYE!
One moment is unnerving, though. I am busy throwing the ball for Clara, or talking to someone, not paying total attention. I walk on, then I hear someone say, "Hey, isn’t that your dog?" I look behind me to see Harriet flying down the walkway, along the water, going the wrong way. And you wouldn’t think it, but those little legs can get a move on when they want to. So I call her. And I call her louder. And then I remember that recently she’s gone pretty damn deaf, so I scream her name. People start to look at me.
Harriet is still running hell for leather away from me, obviously looking for me and Clara, and she’s about to round the turn where I’ll lose sight of her, so I start to step it up. I run, Clara leaping at my heels thinking it’s a great new game, and I’m yelling as loudly as I can "HARRIET!" while taking a brief second to explain to each person I zoom past "She’s sixteen, she’s deaf," because I feel somehow embarrassed that they’re watching me chase a dog who obviously doesn’t want to be caught.
Then the onlookers start to help, and there is a chorus of Harriets all around me. She finally hears all of us, and turns around, still far ahead of me. OH BOY THERE YOU ARE! She runs back to me, thrilled with her sleuthing skills.
I JUST TURNED AROUND AND YAY! HERE YOU ARE!
This is proof. Harriet, although low, can streak along at the sound of a fast-flying biscuit.
Dogs is good.
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