6 Steps to a Dog Walk

Carly Takes Me Walkabout

Dog walking at our house is a six-step process. Carly sees it as exercise, listening to great thoughts from me, and taking a dump somewhere between her late afternoon nap and early evening nap on the dog couch in the living room.

Carly is a black Portuguese Water Dog with a white chest and four white paws; a tuxedo dog. Small but amazingly cute. Because of her size and obvious zest for life, people often mistake her for a large puppy. She is seven. PWDs usually settle into moderate behavior at about ten.

Avoidance & Getting Ready: It’s about four in the afternoon. I’m thinking about wrapping up my writing and also what I’m going to make for dinner. Carly is thinking about a walk. If I’m sitting in my reading chair, she hops up on the footstool and just stares at me. I pat her on the head and go back to my laptop. She moves closer, nudges the laptop, and then returns to her sitting position.

Okay, okay, okay. But first I check the weather and temperature. Too cold or too hot outside cancels the walk as well as significant wind and/or blowing snow or a thunderstorm. She’s fine with the cold, but not so good with the heat. If we are out for a morning jog in the summer and it’s too hot for her, she’ll just stop in the middle of the trail and sit down. With webbed paws, snow is a bit of a problem, so we strap her in tight booties that she hates. But they keep balls of snow from forming in the webbing of her paws.

If the weather excuse is untenable, then I tell her to go get her harness. She never does. She just bounces around the living room in anticipation. If Blue Eyes is around, she usually corrals Carly long enough to get her into her harness.

I clip her in with one of those cheap-assed, locking carabiners that come in an assortment of colors and are sold at hardware stores. The ‘biner is at the end of a six-foot nylon webbing lead. On the other end of the lead is a large loop that goes over my shoulder, across my back, and back to the lead. This is a ‘hands-free’ lead, unless I want, or need to short-leash Carly.

Walking, Please Pick a Side: We go out the front door and Carly immediately wants to bolt in at least five or six different directions at one time; such is her energy level, olfactory motivation, and curiosity.

My guess is if I had been loitering around the house all day and found myself on a leash, I too would be difficult to control. We start by going uphill toward Wonderland Lake (Look it up, it’s a real lake in Boulder, named with no ironic intent at all…he said). Carly can’t make up her mind whether she wants to walk on my right or left, or swing around behind me to walk on the other side.

Mostly, I’m okay with this. But if it’s just too much, I short-leash her to my right side and she falls in like a little soldier and walks perfectly beside me. That is until she detects that I’m not paying attention, and then she tries to jerk right or left.

Other Dogs: Not being a dog whisperer, I have zero understanding of why a perfectly-behaved house dog can, for no apparent reason, become a barking, snarling animal. I suspect that when dogs on leash approach each other there is some sort of communication between them. If that communication doesn’t go well, there is often dog mayhem.

Carly occasionally does the barking-snarling thing, which, given her appearance, is totally unexpected. Without fail, when we are approaching another dog, I short-leash Carly and often step aside to let the other dog and owner pass. Most dog owners see what I am doing and take more control over their dogs. But every so often there is a special person, usually on their phone, who is oblivious to their animal who wants to rip Carly to shreds. I hold Carly close and do a frowny face as this person drifts by with their slobbering, vicious dog.

And then there is the ‘meet and greet’, where another person wants their dog to meet Carly. That generally works well, but we almost always end up with leash spaghetti, as the dogs circle each other to sniff parts. This means that one human must grab their dog, unclip said dog, untangle the leashes, and re-clip their dog. I’m not sure if this flailing about helps socialize dogs or merely entertains them.

Talking to Carly: She understands about twenty words that are mostly commands, although she stares at me as if she understands everything I’m saying. She seems particularly interested in my discussions of where I think a political situation will go. She indicates interest by turning her head to look at me out of the corners of her eyes. I know this the same look humans give one another in disbelief. Maybe she’s just astounded that one of her adults is talking to her as if she understands. Worse yet, maybe she thinks I’m naive and know nothing about politics.

If my soliloquy exceeds a certain length and volume, she will begin to look around to see if there is anyone within hearing distance. It is almost as if she is embarrassed to be seen with me. But more, I think that she just doesn’t want me to appear the fool to the neighbors, any more than I normally do. When I work outside, I randomly share my thoughts on malfunctioning garden tools to anyone within 50 yards who might care to be listening.

But when I attempt to discuss with her the downside of barking at the mailman or any other delivery person, she feigns deafness. Because she is so damn cute, they have all been kind to her, and some come with treats in their pockets. And if they approach, she’s all over them, bouncing up on her hind legs even though, moments before, she was doing snarly dog barking. When she is off-leash close to home, on sighting a bunny she will tear off after the bunny, leading me to conclude that she has temporarily erased me from her consciousness— that I am shouting into the void.

Number 1 and 2: After exercise and listening to my snippets of wisdom, the mission of the dog walk is let the dog divest itself of some bodily liquids and solids. Once up the street a ways, Carly will stop, squat and empty her bladder. Carly spent her first six years with Willy, our older PWD from whom she learned how to mark as she walked along. Willy is gone now, but she keeps marking on our walks. Given the first long pee after leaving the house, I’m always amazed that she can mark ten or so times on a mile-long walk.

I’ve wanted to ask this question ever since we had our first dog some years ago. Why is it that when your dog is doing number two, people walk right by you with their dog instead of allowing enough distance so that your dog isn’t distracted? It’s like a stranger walking through your bathroom first thing in the morning as you are sitting there attending to business and doomscrolling.

And what is it about letting your dog take a dump and not cleaning it up? This indicates poor parenting at least. Or if you clean it up and bag the product, why do you leave the bag there on the sidewalk? There is no Poop Fairy, that bag will be there until you pick it up, which you seldom remember to do.

Coming home: As Carly enters middle age I’ve seen a mellowing. Once she has used all of her pent-up energy and curiosity she becomes a model dog who drops in on my right side and matches my pace all the way home. She could be off-leash and still do this.

Once close to home, she tends to pick up the pace and move in front of me. At the front door she paces a bit as I reach to open it. Then she races through the living room to greet Blue Eyes and then on to the kitchen to see if there is any food in her bowl. Lacking food, she’ll lap up some water, and come back to the dog couch in the living room. Then she settles in on top of the pillow closest to the fireplace and goes to sleep.

And those are the six steps of a dog walk.

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