A Walk in the Neighborhood

Here we are during the pre-walk phase. I'm not sure I want to go. I'm tired; we could get attacked; a loud noise could tear down the street; I'd rather eat and watch Animal Planet.

There was a time when I could refuse a walk just by planting my 130-pound rear end on the pavement. Joan would hug me, coax me, ask me if I wanted to get some exercise or go in the opposite direction (I had a bad period during which I couldn't make a left, just like Zoolander). Now, she says, "I'm the leader of this pack. You will get up and move." And I do.

Loud noises frighten me; that's why I don't like to walk. Short men drive by in very loud cars to prove they're taller than they are; scared teenagers gather in groups and whoop and scream to prove they're not scared; and sometimes stupid people set off firecrackers to prove they're not stupid—especially during the summer and just before every new year. Dogs don't care about new years or even about old years. Dogs run from loud noises because loud noises signal extreme danger and make hearing creatures deaf.

However, once I'm on the walk, it's intriguing and I wonder what my big problem was. There are wild smells, leaping squirrels, people who say I'm pretty, and barking dogs who feel bad because we're out walking and they're chained up.

(Hey, ASPCA and Dog Whisperer, why don't you educate the humans about the cruelty of leaving their dogs chained up? Speak up, will you?)

Anyway, little kids run out of their yards and yell, "I like your dogs!" Joan always says "Thank you" for us as though we can't speak for ourselves. We always pass Freddy, the black and brown dog behind the red house; Max, the black dog on Hilltop Avenue; Poopsy, the little dog with a tiny bark and stubby gray tail that looks like an ear; Mario and Luigi, the two dogs on Straight Path who bark at each other every time we pass by; and, finally, there's that white toy poodle, Perrito, who runs down his driveway yapping and yelping with his tiny toy voice threatening to attack Shane. His owner always gets mad at him and slaps him, and Joan always says, "No, no! Està bien. Don't hit the dog!" Our walks are never dull—not from a dog's perspective.

Happy Birthday to Joan's old dog Geordie and best wishes from Juno