It’s become our habit (Zorro’s, Cleo’s and mine) to do a daily walk before I settle at the computer to write. Generally, we do this between 9:30 and 10:30 in the morning, before it gets too hot. Today, we didn’t manage to do this until almost noon because I had other engagements.
Generally one turn around the long blog (one block over, through the park, up another short block, and down the long block home) is enough to keep both dogs tired out until supper, at which point their antics – the tricks they do do EARN said supper – tire them out enough to keep them from driving me crazy until the three of us retire to the bedroom. Once we’re in the bedroom, each of them selects one of my ankles as a chin rest, and I can read, write, watch television, or do all of the above, for hours, as long as no one (meaning me) has to move.
Tonight, about an hour ago, the routine changed.
I fed them around six, and let them out into the back yard to do their stuff (and so I could turn off the hose, which was in the pool, and had subsequently flooded the yard), around seven.
Just before eight, as I was about to write my second to last post for tonight (and I apologize for the over-abundance of posts – I had some ad-links that were due tonight, and even though one of my services doesn’t care if posts are back-to-back, I care), a small dog jumped up and braced their front paws on each of my thighs, and said, “We’d like another one of those walkies, please.”
At least, I thought that’s what they were asking. They might have been looking for Fuzzy, who isn’t yet home from work. So I asked, “Are you looking for Daddy?” and they gave me the look that means, “Who?” And then I asked (because they’ll often signal when it’s bedtime, “Do you want to go to bed?” But clearly they didn’t.
“What do you want?” I asked, and they raced for the door to the mud/laundry room/airlock between house and garage where their leashes are stored. Zorro pawed at the door, and Cleo sat in front of it and warbled, the way she generally does when begging for her special T-O-Y that we keep hidden so she won’t destroy it.
“Ok,” I said. And yes, I do speak aloud to the dogs. It amuses me, and they like the sound. “Let’s go for a WALK!”
This is a trigger phrase, and caused utter pandemonium, until leashes were snapped on, doors were opened and shut, and the street had been peed upon.
Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out what to do with my cell phone, for I’d grabbed it thinking it was unwise to wander around in the dark without something in case of emergency, even with two canine companions in a fairly safe neighborhood, but alas, didn’t have any pockets.
I ended up ducking behind my mailbox and shoving it into my bra. The edge of the bra touched a button, and the screen lit up, so I walked for a quarter of a block with a glowing rectangle of light on my left breast, but the dogs didn’t care.
And by the time we passed the neighbor out for his evening motorcycle ride, the light had gone off…really.
I’m going to have to get a fanny pack, because I suspect evening walkies are about to become a regular occurrence.