Why I Hate Walking My Dog

I really do love my Fluffy Bastard, me lovely Irish, however. Well, lets just say she is like walking a herd of curious Giant Turtles. EVERY single spot, dash, or otherwise VAGUE remnant of all beasts who may pee, must have an inspection. This is IRISH LAW and o’Beautiful Golden One is annoyingly thorough. This inspection could happen at a moments notice.

MY cue … if one chooses to call it that…is the muscles in my shoulder ripping as she pulls off in some random direction I’m not ready for. So this winter, I didn’t walk her. The sidewalks were shite, I felt like shite, and she could shite just outside our door. Might as well take some advantage of the white stuff’s soft blanketing effect.

Now of course I have Mt. Shita outside the door. She’s no more impressed with this then I. She refuses to go anywhere near it. She really, really, really, really wants to go for a walk. I’d rather knit, to be honest. Even taking pictures with her is hard, because she just can be very single-minded. So doggy of her. I miss my Cats.

Don’t take me too serious now, I’m just kvetching. Once all the snow melts, it warms, and the pathways are clear of snow and icy bits…I’ll be off…and she by then will be RE-TRAINED back to DOGGY WHO LISTENS. In the meantime it’s a tug of war.


I love her for that. She challenges me, this doggy. She won’t back down, and she doesn’t like it AT ALL when I cry. Won’t leave me alone till I stop. Which means lately she’s had her nose in my face ALOT. Which can be somewhat annoying at times. I LIKE crying sometimes. It helps sooooo much with dealing with crap. Just release it like this torrent of rain, and WAHOOShhhh…just a bit of pain goes with it.

Yet, I find that crying can be habit-forming. It feels good, yes, but you can loose yourself in it. TOo much of it can find you go aWaHoooshhh as well…coming out on the otherside a diluted version of yourself.

Cat in a Bag

Can’t really walk a cat. Some, ok, but not the ones I had. Not really much into walking, more into naps, and playing with random things around the room…every now and again. Little honky-tonk when I gave them Catnip, but generally sedate, rather lazy Cats.

Irish is good for me. She drags me out that door, and whether I enjoy it or not at first, it’s good for me. Good for her too of course. These last 2 months or so, she has been perfectly content to stay more around here, fewer walks. Now though she’s chomping at the bit, and can’t wait to go romping out and about, maybe some walks in the woods, or by the River on a sunny day. I’m chomping at THAT bit myself.

Cliché as this may sound, but you are rarely lonely with a dog. They just won’t stand for it. They are jolly and playful, and loyal, and even fierce if need be, but they admire discipline, and see it as a quality of leadership.

And she watches. She is a great watcher, and a fantastic forewarning system. I missed having a dog. They are such wonderful companions, and teachers, and healers, friends or clown.

The Guardian

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