Another experiment in family living today. I strapped E. into the torso jet pack (for better nap excellence) and took Jones on the leash for a long walk out to the Knickerbocker Bridge. Would he pull and lunge and endanger my genetic replica? Must I untangle yet another shift in pack dynamics? But no. Again with the miracles, mostly. We passed all the usual triggers without incident: skateboarders (not a crime, I keep telling him), dogs running alongside bikes, the mail truck, squirrels, heavy equipment, all without the usual drama. It’s like some After School Special about a troubled dog transformed by his new responsibility to watch over a baby. It’s more likely that he just wants to ensure the ongoing supply of effluvia she provides.
Cat poop consumed: no
In the dog walking lottery today I got Ramona, who, in case you haven’t already noticed, is a lot like a lottery prize. I pushed the baby juggler and Ramona kept pace alongside, gently anticipating each turn and waiting for cars. It was as if squirrels and cat poop had suddenly been eliminated from the world. Seriously, I bet with very little training she could be one of those dogs that accompany folks in wheelchairs. She’d go to service dog class and the teacher would say, “Ramona, I know you already know this, so feel free to read magazines while I do compassion drills with these other morons.”
Cat poop consumed: no
If you waited until the rain stopped before doing anything, according to K., you’d never do anything. This from the woman who tends to the juvenile grapes in her vineyard rain or shine. But it’s true here, and despite the rain, people mow the grass, attend the Mushroom Festival, shop for vegetables at the farmer’s market, run on the bark paths, ride bikes, and hello! walk dogs. Except today I waited for a window and when it came we headed out and stayed dry, huzzah.
Cat poop consumed: no
It’s harvest festival time again at Dorris Ranch, which means the avenues are lined with carved pumpkins–very charming–and a sign promises “haunted hayrides.” I really don’t understand the appeal of these things, especially if they take place in the back of a flatbed truck. Hay is not especially comfortable. And what exactly is the haunted part? Do ghosts ride along in the truck, a la Haunted Mansion? Now, a haunted beanbag ride, that would be nice. Or a haunted packing peanuts ride would also be fun.
Cat poop consumed: no
The Ducks cross country team, both men’s and women’s squads, passed us with crisp efficiency on the bark path as they ran in tight formation–rain be damned!– and I gave thanks once again for young men in shorts and the benefits they provide to the landscape. I’m jealous and ready to run again, but a long walk through the field is the best I can hope for, at least for another week or two. To the field! To the field! Liberated dogs frolic! Be muddy! Postpartum women walk fast! Be overheated in rain gear!
Cat poop consumed: no
What a novelty to walk just Jones. Course it’s just down to the bus station ATM and the dry cleaner to pick up my new thrift store cashmere. I feel as if I’ve lost 45 pounds.
Cat poop consumed: no
One of the good things about having a dog is that you don’t have to worry about him becoming a grown up and finding himself irritated with my enthusiasm for the banal and the way I repeat the same questions again and again on a single walk through the neighborhood. It seems inevitable, the impatience I feel for my extremely well-intentioned mother–tonight at the mercy of Ramona–that will someday boomerang back to me from E. It’s part of the great circle of life that The Lion King neglected to cover.
Cat poop consumed: no
I found a giant mushroom–a red bulb with white spots–straight out of Tintin. Jones found a banana bread wrapper. Grandma found figs still edible from the tree on the corner. E. found zen calm from the vibration of the baby juggler. Ramona found toast.
Cat poop consumed: no
It was a full-on Walking the Dog family parade, at least for the three blocks to the Bungalow Market. M. needed a Diet Coke so L. chaperoned her into the Bungalow and safely back home through Springfield’s mean streets. Grandma eased the baby juggler up and down curbs as if brain damage was imminent with anything more vigorous, while I wrangled the squirrelly dogs, disrupted by yet another shift in pack dynamics. We eased into the old familiar routine once we got to the base of the hill and started climbing, autumn splendor all round and spreading out in a rusty gold quilt o’er the valley up to the vista vista vista.
Cat poop consumed: yes
