Walking the Dog

Two nights ago, I was feeling guilty for not walking the dog more frequently.  As well, it probably was a good idea for me to get some exercise, so I started looking for the leash so we could be on our way.

After about five minutes of searching, it occurred to me to look in the backyard, as my daughter had had the dog with her while exploring the prior weekend.  Sure enough, there by the miniature "raft" (something between Tom Sawyer and Kon-Tiki) made of small tree limbs I'd pruned, with twigs for masts and magnolia leaves forming an array of sails, was the leash.  I smiled thinking of my daughter's creativity, and how the dog will watch her for hours, mesmerized.

From last weekend

So, at about 9:30, I got the bike out and we started our exercise.  I prefer bike riding to walking, especially so with the dog, as it's less likely to result in a stretched forearm tendon from having her pull me for 45 minutes.  With the bike, I let her pull for the first several hundred yards, after which she tires just a bit, and our pace is matched for the remainder of the outing.  By the end of the ride, I just pedal very slowly to keep from pulling the animal.

There was a very nice breeze, and little traffic as we got to the park.  Along the east side, an occasional wafting of fragrant bushes, and a symphony of bullfrogs in the creek.  Near the south gate, a parked car, the smell of perfume - possibly lovers.  I didn't ride too close so as not to spoil their moment.  At the spillway crossing, I could see in the moonlight, large clumps of the algae that have taken over various waterways this Spring.  The ducks and geese were mostly bedded down for the night.

As we left the part from the west side, I passed the wall of honeysuckles, full in bloom.  Again, thoughts of my daughter, as every time we take this route, we stop to smell and taste the nectar from the honeysuckle flowers.  Another smile, though this time laced with the sadness of the reality that, save for a couple weekends a month, someone else says grace at dinnertime and tucks her into bed every night.  Like her brothers before her, I know she'll be a teenager before long, and the adventures with dad just won't be 'cool' anymore.

Clearing my head of the euphoria and the sorrow, we travel the last few blocks to the house, now contented by the thought that truly, the glass is half full, not half empty. 

The dog and I both slept well that night.