Bad walk, good walk

This evening Izzy and I went for a short walk. If you can call what we did walking. Drug induced interpretive dance is closer. Lurching, spinning, dog-gone-wild is closer still.

All was fine when we stepped out of the house. But then Izzy spotted a spaniel at the corner and she pulled for all she was worth, performing double salchows as she went across the yard toward it. The spaniel stopped to watch the spectacle, probably giving her a low technical score but a high artistic one. The dogs said hello, perfectly civil toward one another. I greeted the woman walking the perfectly controlled spaniel. She observed, “Still a puppy, huh?” Which was friendlier than asking the obvious: Does insanity run in the family?

The woman and her spaniel moved on toward a busy street. Izzy wanted to follow. I wanted her to go the other way. She started spinning, and I was glad I had spent some time watching the fishing channel Saturday because I had to use the technique of letting the line out, reeling back, letting it out, reeling back until I could finally grab her around the middle, talk to her a bit and finally redirect her attention.

You know what’s great about small dogs? Portability.

We headed in the other direction. It didn’t go any better. She darted ahead and if I tried to shorten the leash to control her better, she’d spin like a croc in a death roll. Still, I wasn’t going to give up. We walked past another couple of houses without problem. She stopped at a yard to sniff. The dog inside the house saw her and unleashed a big dog angry bark that, judging by her reaction, would get it arrested for making terroristic threats if anyone could find a law enforcement officer who speaks guttural bark and snarl.

Izzy ran for home, and I was happy to follow. My phone rang as we were walking up the driveway. I pulled it from my pocket, saw Blaine’s name and managed to answer it with one hand while the other side of my body was being pulled toward the trunk of a tree.

“Hello.” Izzy was trying to circle the tree but the leash was too short. “Izz. Stop. Wait a second. Blaine?”

“Yes?”

“Wait, please.”

He chuckled. “Sure.”

“Izzy, let’s go inside. Inside!” I keep thinking she knows the same words as the little white dog. “Home!” I tried. She seemed to get that one and started along the sidewalk toward the door. Once I got her inside, I dropped the leash. She sat obediently so I could unclip it. While she waited for a treat, I stepped over her and sunk onto the couch. “Blaine?”

“I’m here. You OK?”

“Oh sure.” Izzy trotted up to my knee and barked. She wanted the treat she had coming to her for sitting and being patient while I removed the leash. I looked at her, “Your treat is that I didn’t trade you for that spaniel.” I filled Blaine in on the adventure. “No more walks this week,” I stated.

“That’s too bad. I was calling to ask if you wanted to do just that.”

Perhaps I was being hasty. A little ice on my elbow and shoulder, some ibuprofen, perhaps a nice session of memory-blocking hypnosis and I’d be right as rain.

“Let’s do that. Let’s go for a walk tonight.” Izzy’s ears perked at The Word. I mouthed not you at her.

When Blaine arrived, he let himself in through the garage. Izzy met him in the hallway ready to do that between the legs figure eight thing he showed her. Serves him right. He entertained her while I filled her food and water and set everything inside her pen, where she stays when she’s left alone.

Blaine and I took a long walk through the neighborhood. Talked a lot about work, the nitty gritty things that cause a person to like or hate their job. We talked about Paul and Eve’s trip and then traveling in general. I peeked into the homes of those who left their curtains open, and he pretended it wasn’t a ridiculous thing to do.

When we got back I asked if he wanted to stay for some TV. “I shouldn’t,” he said. He didn’t make an effort to leave.

“You sure?” I coaxed.

He held out his hand. “C’mon.” We went to the loft and watched something on the PBS app about Glenn Miller’s disappearance. We noticed that Izzy stopped doing whatever she was doing and watched the TV every time a snippet of music played. I like her taste.