I sometimes marvel at what a strange phenomenon it is to be dragged along the sidewalks of my city on a snowy day by a creature which stands eight inches tall and weighs thirteen pounds. And when I write dragged, I mean hauled, as though I was in a sailboat with a gale force wind pushing me out to open sea. I can carry that little imp around the house with one hand but tie him to an oversized fishing line and he has just a little less power than a team of young horses.
On some days, this infuriates me a little, especially those times when I want to be lying toes up on the couch. In other words, most times. Doggie seems to know, as we set out down the driveway for our twice daily Megasniff Mission, when it is I don’t want to go far. Because those are the times when he decides a trip to the next town would suit him just fine.
So he runs and I scramble to keep up. Then, inevitably, he goes too far, even for him, and realizes he needs to get home RIGHT NOW! So, he turns around and drags me homeward, occasionally looking back impatiently at my slow place.
He doesn’t understand, of course, that he is eleven years old and I am not and that he weighs about as much as one of my boots. His desperation to get back into the warm house grows with each section of sidewalk and he is not happy at the slow pace of the proceedings. I explain loudly to him that this is all his fault but he pretends not to understand.
I have taken notice, however, that he goes a lot farther if he is dressed up in his nice warm winter sweater, so darn it all if I don’t forget to put it on him now and then. I am hoping God will forgive me for those oversights and I am using as the main argument in my defence the fact that doggie always does. We have a hard time staying mad at each other, doggie and I. All it usually takes is me back on the couch, toes in the air, and a doggie treat in hand.
When it all comes down to it, of course, both of us are pretty simple souls.
©2019 Jim Hagarty
