A Day to Rest My Muscles

You can drive a dog to the park, but you can't make her exercise.

It’s raining. Life isn’t always a walk in the park, but I’m just fine with that. Joan’s the one with the exercise mania. “Come on, Juno. Walking’s good for you.” “You can do it; just one more mile, and you can go home and watch all the Animal Planet you want.” At least, that’s what she says, you know, to encourage me.


In my neighborhood, humans come in two groups—the smoking beer drinkers who sit in their cars for hours and the exercisers who jog sweatily along the street and then disappear on the horizon. Dogs aren’t that way at all. We like a good run, but we do it in moderation; we also like to rest, but, again, we don’t spend hours sitting in cars, smoking, drinking, and staring at nothing. I’m not saying humans should be like dogs—but they sure could learn a thing or two from us.


You know, I love to eat dirt on occasion. The pet websites say I have either a behavioral problem—me?—or a terrible disease. I say, I just like the gritty texture and pungent smell of cool damp earth fresh from the ground. After all, it’s not every day, and it’s not as though I’m obsessed with the stuff.


Anyway, no walk in the woods today for it’s way too wet. That’s good. My muscles need a respite from healthful practices—at least for a day or two.


Best wishes, Juno

Looking Like Rain

When it rains, we stay close to home, run out in the yard for a minute or two, and run back to the protection of the house where we have the option of resting on a soft dog bed or looking out the glass doors in the kitchen and watching the slow growing of the grass in the backyard.

Yesterday it rained, and I was grateful, because Shane and I were still tired from the day before—a two-mile walk through the woods and around the lake followed by a bath, a quick blow dry and poofing of the fur, and that confusing ride to Babylon Animal Hospital to get our nails done. Whew! Once all that was done, we drove home, had our teeth brushed, and finally lay exhausted on our freshly washed sheets. Joan said, “You think you’re tired?” I’m not sure what she meant, but I don’t see how she could be tired, if that's what she was implying.

Today, it looked as though the afternoon might have turned into another washout, and I didn’t mind the idea of spending another day in repose. But, it wasn’t to be. Joan got home from work and announced that we’d be touring the grounds around Belmont once again, and off we went to the woods & lake. We didn’t take the long cut because it was a little muddy, but we had a good walk.

A man in the parking lot admired our beauty, said he sees us there every day, said we were nice and he was Irish. Then he got all poetic and said something about me looking like rain. "Looks like rain," he said, looking right into my eyes. Maybe he was seeing a sadness from long ago. Very insightful, I thought.

By the way, I lost maybe a pound and am down to 126—that’s actually six pounds lower than my all-time high of 132. But, who’s keeping score? Not me, for sure.

Best wishes, Juno

PS: Hi Rosemary. Don't forget to visit my blog once in a while. Joan says she'll miss you.

Netherfield (aka Belmont Park) in March

Inside, I’m Juno the athlete, the cheerleader, the cross-country runner. It’s who I am, but not who I appear to be. So, I was sort of glad that we took the shortcut through the woods today. Joan’s sick again; she couldn't handle take the usual route that turns in mysterious ways and suddenly opens up on the lake.

During the first part of the walk, a big black dog named Bruno came charging through the woods to greet us. Some woman with a baby carriage kept calling him: “Bruno, get back here! Bruno, get back here!”

But Bruno didn’t listen. He and I exchanged greetings and wagged our tails while Shane whimpered. The woman kept calling Bruno, but he steadfastly ignored her. Then—no surprise here—Shane made a leap toward Bruno with his mouth wide open, and Bruno finally heeded the woman’s call. It’s good that she kept calling him; it helped him save face.

The rest of the walk was peaceful. Joan kept coughing and saying things like, “The woods around Netherfield are so lovely at this time of year.”

I think she was half expecting Mr. Darcy to trot out of the novel on his great brown steed. But, he never did show up. I knew he wouldn't.

All in all, it was a good walk. Not too long. Not too short.

Best wishes, Juno

Changes

On our way to the lake. By the way, that's a Halty, not a muzzle. We love Shane's Halty.

The crocuses are sunning themselves at the front of the house; the flower pots, though still empty, know they won’t be empty for long, and so they tremble every so slightly in anticipation of lovely things to come. Shane and I wait for everything to change as we stay pretty much the same.

However, I must say that Shane has been a lot calmer of late. Dogs come to visit, and he doesn’t get all mean, unless, of course, they act like puppies and jump all over his face. Yes, he still has a long way to go; we have to give nervous dogs some time and space. After all, how would you react if some puppy jumped all over your face or chewed on your hair or nibbled on your shoes?

I see promise in Shane. He’s really a good dog who had a bad beginning in life. That alone can be the ruin of anyone, even humans. Coolness is in the genes, but it's also a matter of luck. Dogs like me are naturally tranquil, because we just happened to be at the front of the line when the calm genes were up for grabs.

Best wishes, Juno

Selva oscura

Resting on the Trail & Not Quite Nightfall

This walk through the park along wooded and leafy trails, amid bare and staring trees, under all kinds of skies, around the choppy lake, over wooden bridges, has become a habit. And, despite the increase in exercise, which Joan assures me will pay off in an increased lifespan and svelter figure, it sure beats walking around the neighborhood with its garbage and noise and zooming cars. Going to the park is like going on a mini-vacation. We come back all tired, but with the feeling that there’s something better than our immediate world. And it’s only a mile away. Who knew?

There are all sorts of ducks and swans in the lake; occasionally, well behaved dogs jog by with their people, and I whimper and Shane tries to run after them and Joan just shakes her head wishing Cesar Millan were here to help. She says, “I’m the boss,” but without the conviction of a true Cesar.

Now, we don’t like rainy days because we’ll miss the walk through the woods and around the lake. Oh, and don’t laugh about my hope of becoming a svelter and buffer dog, because we know someone who lost 12 pounds and 37 cholesterol points from walking around the very same lake. I’m telling you, there’s something in the air.

Best wishes, Juno

A Walk Around Belmont

Spring is coming. I can tell because I just had a bath, the crocuses have nosed through the icy earth, and the neighbors are starting to check out their lawn mowers, motor cycles, motor anythings. Sometimes we walk around the lake at Belmont Park, which is too much fun, especially for Shane, who whines every time he sees another dog—a practice he should do away as soon as he gets used to the idea that he’s not the only dog in the world (besides me, of course).

Who knew Belmont Lake could be so beautiful? We’ve been living here for four years, and we just “discovered” it. It’s like Central Park, except that people say hello even if they’ve never seen you before. Now, that’s so un-urban, but it’s reassuring.

Once we get back from the park, we’re very tired. Me, I like to sit in the yard until I’ve gotten my second wind. Shane? Well, just look at the photo.

Best wishes, Juno

Kicked

Today, we went for a walk. Wow, was it windy; but it was nice because it was the first day in a long time that we were able to go for a walk what with Joan being so sick this winter. When we got home, I lay down in my usual spot next to the fence. There I was, just minding my own business feeling the cold wind lift my fur, listening to the almost imperceptible whistle of the thin air and low groan of the sleeping trees. Even the grass was shushing in its very dry way, almost as though it were trying to blow out the snowflakes that danced on top of its brown winter blades.

What I didn’t hear as I marveled at the sounds that creaked and whooshed on this first day of March was the girl next door as she tiptoed across her own dry lawn toward the fence. I didn’t hear her as she picked up a stick and threw it back down because it was too big. I didn’t hear her as she came close to the fence where I lay, and I didn’t hear as she drew back her foot and slammed it against the chain-link fence hitting me right on my behind.

I yelped.

And the girl hadn’t heard or seen Joan walking down the driveway as this was going on; and she didn’t know Joan had just witnessed her mean streak. “Hey! Why did you kick my dog?” yelled Joan.

And the girl lied in a tiny voice full of sugar cubes: “Oh, I was just petting her.”

Now I can’t lie against the fence anymore. It was my favorite spot. Now Joan wishes she were rich enough to move away. Now I’m going to sit in the house and think about kicking and lies and the creaking sounds of a cold windy day that bring surprises that would have no place in a kinder world.

Best wishes for a better days,

Juno