“OK, pup, let’s go!”
I slapped my thigh a couple of times, and without a word — because he can’t talk, of course — Billy lifted his nose from whatever he was sniffing and came bounding forward.
He fell in beside me and trotted along, breathing through his doggy mouth and glancing up every few seconds to see if I was still enjoying myself. I was. Reader, I was blissing out.
“OK, now let’s go up this road,” I said, switching the leash to my other hand and keeping up the conversation. Smiling down at the dog’s upturned face, I remarked, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Billy looked at me as if to say, “Lady, I don’t know what the heck you’re talking about but I certainly do love the way you say it.”
“Yes indeed,” I agreed with myself aloud. “It certainly is a beautiful day.”
Actually, it wasn’t that great a day; rain clouds were gathering and we would be lucky to get home before the deluge arrived.
But inside my heart, there was radiant sunshine and chirping songbirds, for I had discovered what countless dog lovers have known for many centuries: It feels absolutely wonderful to stride along in the fresh air with a faithful canine companion.
This had come as a surprise. If you are not a dog owner or natural dog lover, neither of which I’d been until Billy arrived last Christmas, having to walk the creature seems yet another strike against it.
During my years of opposition with the children pleading for a puppy, I must have had a hundred conversations with fellow resisters. We fortified each other’s resolve by enumerating the reasons a dog was a terrible idea. The shedding! The chewing! The vet bills! The “accidents”! At some point, someone would strike the conclusive blow: “Plus, you have to walk it.”
We’d shake our heads. We’d seen those poor saps trudging along at all hours and in all weather so that Fido could get his exercise. We’d seen those poor saps on the side of the road holding their humiliating plastic bags, waiting while the creature defecated so that they could pick it up!
So I was unprepared for the sheer, almost baffling joy of taking Billy out for a comradely stroll. It didn’t happen overnight; we did a lot of leash (and treat) training before taking to the open road. Yet the result is that instead of “having” to walk the dog, most days I feel ridiculously happy that I get to walk him.
On that sunshine-and-birdsong day, the first raindrops were pattering down as we came near the end of our walk. Billy paused to sniff the remains of a mouse flattened into the asphalt. “Leave it,” I said, still walking.
He hesitated, tempted, and then bounced back to me and fell into step. This little act of obedience made my heart want to burst.
“Oh, who’s a good dog?” I cried. Billy looked up, still trotting.
“You are a good dog!” I informed him.
He took this in stride. Whatever the heck I was talking about, at some point there would be a treat. And he would be the one to eat it.
Meghan Cox Gurdon’s column appears on Sunday and Thursday. She can be contacted at mgurdon@ washingtonexaminer.com.
