Tonight I Took Daisy for A Walk

If you know anything about a 'coon dog, you know that this is a story of lies because no one can take a 'coon dog on a walk. Or if you have ever heard of such a person, unless you see it with your own eyes, don't believe it.

Daisy is a 'coon dog, which means if you were to compare her body parts in terms of effectiveness, her nose would be about the size of the lies told in the 9/11 commission report (notice the lie theme :-). She can smell anything and everything, and she's big, and she's strong. That said, when Daisy is on her leash, you are essentially at the mercy of her good will because she is stronger than you, and her will is a thing to behold. Especially if you come across a small deer or a 'coon in the course of your whiplash style jaunt across the neighborhood.

Today was an especially long day and not because it was filled with many exciting though exhausting events. First, I was awakened before 6 by the chime sound of Daisy's collar. I'm a light sleeper and if anyone or thing is stirring in the night, I know about it immediately. Since I am also the janitor of all Daisy's gastro-intestinal problems or when her nose gets the best of her and she must ransack the garbage can in the kitchen, if I hear the collar too early in the morning signaling Daisy is up and about, I bolt.

So it was this morning. Around 5:30 Daisy was up and about, I hastily got out of my bed, stopped to put on my flip flops and softly called to Daisy in the darkness. She came immediately. I took her out to the backyard and she set to work exhibiting all the lovely symptoms of a full and complete puke fest. Unfortunately for Daisy, Jon had just cut the grass over the weekend, so she had to scrounge a bit to find nice grassy bits to get the job done. I sorrowfully remembered that I had pitied her hound dog eyes last night and given her the remnants of pork roast and gravy. I knew better then, and I knew even better now.

I settled into a folding chair I brought from the sunroom since the teak chairs were soaking wet from the rain, wrapped up in an afghan (incidentally, the afghan my Aunt Ann crocheted for my step-dad a few years before I was even born which made me rather happy--I love things with stories), and enjoyed the sun rise to the sounds of the poor puking, gagging, Daisy.

Daisy got it worked out of her system by the time the sun was up and it was time for me to get the kids and breakfast going. And so the long day was off to a running start. I cleaned out a disgusting clogged toilet (small people who over use toilet paper....sigh), mopped the bathroom floor--(yeah, that's gross when the toilet over flows), taught school, did the radio show, produced 3 meals, did the dishes, took the kids to the park, took out garbage, milled wheat, and stirred up biga and started several batches of bread for tomorrow...yeah, I was tuckered out and needed a walk.

It was after 10 pm and I had my hand on the door knob when the hound dog eyes that had been my downfall the night before were again upon me. Surely I was not going to galavant across the neighborhood and leave my faithful friend behind? I sighed. No, I was not. Instead, I was going to put on her leash (just for show since the security patrol is usually cruising the neighborhood on the lookout for frisky 80 year olds keeping the neighbors up with their high action and rather loud basketball games) and let her drag me around for several blocks.

She was out the door in a flash, sniffing the air with an eager fascination. We made it past 3 houses before the sounds of a cooped up canine or three became very audible. Daisy had to respond in her hoarse hoop for a bark. I was exasperated. "Come on, Daisy, for heaven's sake." Heaven must have heard because Daisy was suddenly silent. I was cautiously pleased and she continued, nose to the ground, meandering along the sidewalk, first one side, then the other, than darting back under a bush, than darting forward sensing something. I soon wished I had worn different foot wear from the flip flops. But in a bit that would be the lesser of my problems.

I will pause here to say that dog owners who walk their dog and leave behind their dog's exhaust for others to step in and otherwise enjoy, should be shot along with their dog at sunrise the next morning. That is my pet-test of pet-peeves. There is a special place in purgatory for you if you leave behind dog poop. I don't even believe in purgatory, but I think hell might be going a bit far. For instance when I weigh Hitler sending all those millions to their deaths and leaving behind dog poop, I'm thinking Hell for Hitler and Purgatory for the Poo Leaver. But currently I'm having a lovely glass of wine, so I might feel differently in the morning. Check back.

Back to the story, we were many more blocks from the house than I could count, I was enjoying a moon that was bursting through breaks in the clouds which were finally clearing up after a fiesty late afternoon rainstorm, and Daisy was maintaining a somewhat predictable cycle of jog, trot, dart, stop, jerk, and pull that could be enjoyed on some sick level. Suddenly, she got that position and I realized I had left home without the poo bag. "Noooo" I mournfully said as Daisy finished up her business. This dog never poops on walks. I mean, NEVER.

I looked around to see if I had been spotted by neighbors on the prowl. All was quiet. I checked for some sort of block identification since I was going to have to trot back, bag in hand, a little while later. When I did get back home, Caroline was sprawled on the sofa reading. "I thought Daisy never left exhaust on walks?" I whined--or maybe sighed is a better word. Caroline affirmed my thinking. "Yeah, mom, she never does unless you forget the bag. It's the strangest thing."

I got a couple bags and headed back out. It was at this time that I was a bit pleased I had to go fetch the exhaust because it gave me an opportunity to wander along in the moonlight at a happy pace unencumbered by a crazy 'coon dog intent on nabbing some furry animal in the midst of a concrete jungle. Mission accomplished a short time later and my guilt relieved. The patrol car lazily moseyed on by, the window down. "Evening," said the patrol man who looked a decade or two past retirement age. I cheerfully said evening back and went on my way. A few silent bicyclists went by and I was back home.