Our walks have changed.
They’re more like sniff fests, moving from bush to bush, post to post. I wonder what he smells, what information he discerns. Sometimes I imagine it, “Oh, this is the terrier down the street, the three year old who eats dry kibble and has a cat at home.”
Or perhaps it’s more like, “Oh, I’m going to let you know I’m tough big guy. You can’t scare me you rottweiler you. No sir.” And then he lifts a leg to make his own mark.
Truth is, I have no idea.
What I do know is that he’s a prancer. He always has been, but now there’s a lightness to his step, and an occasional giddy up in his back legs that seem like they might collapse out from under him in any moment.
As we walk the snow free street in February sun and soak in the winter warmth he stops when we get to the corner. I’ve learned that this is his way of taking control. His way to say, “I’m not going that way.”
So we do the dance.
I ask him, “Which way are we going?”
He stares at me motionless.
I then point my body in a new direction to see if that’s the way he wants to go.
Nothing.
No movement.
“Ok, Boo, which way do you want to go?” I ask.
I turn again, choose another direction.
Still nothing.
Depending on my day, and what’s waiting for me on my desk, or if I have somewhere to go after our walk, I play his wait and see game to give me directions. Today is one of those days. I simply wait.
And when I find the right direction, just like that, as though he were a toy dog that’s been wound up again, his legs begin moving and he’s prancing again. Until, we get to a bush just a few steps down the way.
Sniff, sniff, sniff.
Sniff sniff.
Sniff.
I wait.
I purposefully left my cell phone at home.
I watch him. I listen to his sniffing. I marvel at his thorough inspection of the bush.
It takes a while.
Today, the sun helps me stand there. When it’s sub zero weather, I’m more apt to pull him along and tug at his collar.
Though our pace is slow, I ponder the days ahead when he won’t be around to take me for walks. I wonder if I will take myself out for a walk without him and sadly, I think, no.
And with that thought, my heart bursts open just a bit. I’m so happy to be with him, watch him sniff and let him direct where we’re going.