I don’t typically like to do this (that is, discuss minutiae), and I am especially hesitant after taking a three or four week hiatus, but I’d like to tell a story about Good Friday.
Friday during the day I worked from home, one of the many benefits of being a hired gun. Shortly after 5, I went to the gym and worked out for awhile. Then I came back and took my dogs for a walk. That’s where the story really begins. Because I have, to put it nicely, “issues,” I decided not to walk them in the usual direction (which is straight down the street that intersects with mine in front of my driveway), figuring that, instead, I would just start off by going to the left and walking around the block. This decision came as a direct result of a large amount of neighbors (that is, two (2) neighbors) out and about doing yardwork and the like. I, being me, and having issues, didn’t really feel like walking by these neighbors and so set off in a different direction. The only problem was that, as I arrived at the next cross street that would take me around the block, there were several more neighbors out and about, this time with a cadre of kids playing street hockey, riding bikes, and just generally enjoying the bonhomie that is the day off of school due to Jesus’s crucifixion. Now that I had already set a precedent of avoiding neighbors on Good Friday, I thought it would completely betray my socially anxious ways to then walk down the street with the scores of kids and disrupt their games, say hi to their parents, etc.
So, I took another left and went up to the busy street along which my dogs very rarely get walked. This brought them great pleasure, because they like exploring new places and pissing on new stone walls and things along those lines. It brought me very little pleasure, mostly because it wasn’t a new place for me, and I didn’t get to piss on any stone walls. From there, the walk proceeded pretty naturally for awhile, except that it was in reverse. Then we got to the entrance to the park. Now, almost every time we pass this entrance, one of my dogs tries to get me to go down there (they both love the park). But, knowing that we almost never actually go down there, he hedges his excitement and pretty quickly moves on to smelling bushes. On the few occasions in which I actually do take them down the entrance, his excitement is almost tangible. It’s as if he wants nothing more than to run as fast as he can, but his excitement is so intense that he can’t even bring himself to pull on the leash and so he actually enters the park at normal speed. I’m not sure I’ve quite done it justice, but when those two dogs pass on in like 30 years (they are bionic animals who act like most two-year-old dogs do, despite the fact that they are 11), I’m going to write a memoir for them or something. So, I’ll have another crack at it, and will likely spend more than 15 seconds getting the descriptions right.
(Right now, it’s hard to love them enough to spend extra time poring over my memory and my base of vocabulary to try to get the words just so—this is mostly because they still eat my trash and require me to pick up their shit from time to time. When they leave this existence, I’ll never think of that stuff at all. I’ll just think of the pleasant moments on our walks over the years, the shared experience of trekking through inclement weather, the time I tried to get them to pull me in a sled to absolutely no avail, the days when they used to pull me up the hill on the black path, and the day, just this February, when I cheered them on as they struggled to keep up over the last legs of a slow 3-mile jog (they are getting old nowadays).)
We went into the park, and I explained to the pooches, “Guys, it might still be a little wet from all the rain we got, so we’re going to stick to the perimeter, because that’s where the higher ground is.” I don’t know if this made any impression on them, but I figured it was worth sharing, just so they knew the gameplan. (Related sidenote: This was actually one of the most vocal walks I’ve had with my dogs in awhile—I was talking up a storm to them. This may or may not be related to the fact that I had carefully planned our route to avoid human contact.) While I have no doubt that sticking to the perimeter was an adequate plan on paper, it didn’t turn out so well in practice. As I neared the backstop at the second softball field, I noticed the ground was a little soggy. This sogginess lasted for about 10 feet, followed by a brief respite, and then 100 yards of unmitigated mud. Figuring that this mud could only last so long, since I was on the perimeter (high ground and all that), I began to run. This brought my dogs an additional heaping of joy. All it brought me was a missing shoe which had gotten stuck in the mud and caused me to stop and walk back 30 feet with only my left sneaker on and pry it out. Then I gave up on the running, gave in to the fact that I, and my dogs, would be covered in mud, and proceeded at normal walking pace.
On our way out, I was taking steps which caused water to explode out from under my feet and shoot five or six feet in all directions. As we exited, covered in mud, a little girl playing outside her house asked me if she could pat the dogs, and so I brought them over and she patted them, they sniffed her—it was a great moment which I would have enjoyed a lot more if I wasn’t a) covered in mud and soaking wet and b) intensely worried that one of them would jump on this girl, knocking her over and covering her in mud to boot, ruining her affection for dogs forever. I didn’t want that on my hands. Perhaps the best part of this story is that after the odyssey which took me along a busy street and into the mudfields of Andrews Park, I walked back up the street which intersects mine (the one which I usually take starting out on dog walks) and my neighbors were still there, out and about and doing yardwork and the like! I got what I deserved, certainly.
So, that was my Good Friday. Or, well, that was the first part of it. The rest of it was crazier, less muddy, and much more socially active (and, to be honest, much better–no offense to the pooches). But, that’s a different story for a different day.
Keep your head down, strive for balance, and, today, walk with one foot next to another (it’s better that way).
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