There are two songs you definitely don’t want stuck in your head while out for a dog run sans iPod: Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head by B.J. Thomas and Time to Change by the Brady Bunch Kids (complete with Peter’s voice cracking).

Cat poop consumed: no

A guest contributor today: Private S., U.S. Marine Corps.

When I was reading this book I came across this passage, if you will, that made me think of you. More like Jones, but it reminded me of your walking the dog stories.”For those who despair that their lives are without meaning and without purpose, for those who dwell in a loneliness so terrible that it has withered their hearts,for those who would squander their in self pity and in self destruction because they have lost saving wisdom with which they were born, for all these and many more, hope waits in the dreams of a dog, where the sacred nature of life may be clearly experienced without the all but blinding filter of human need, desire, greed, envy, and endless fear.”

Cat poop consumed: no

I’ve been bugged about all the gimmicky books out there these days that are based around the idea of doing something for a year. It’s a tidy time period; long enough for a rigorous trial but not too long to create real suffering. The trick is to find something relatively banal that one can do each day, add a twist, and then blog about it. And it helps to have the endeavor lend itself to a book and movie tie-in. Rather than go without bottled water or toilet paper, or trying to incorporate peppercorns into every meal, I think a more interesting challenge would be to chronicle the truly mundane. There are lots of things one does every day year after year that could provide truckloads of insight and illumination that don’t involve heroic acts of sacrifice: flossing, putting on clothes, reading billboards, rolling cigarettes, managing the drifts of dog hair accumulating in the corners.

Cat poop consumed: no

As T.S. Eliot said, a cat is not a dog. I would like to add, as something of a non sequitur, that walking is not running. I knew a woman who rather spontaneously entered the Los Angeles marathon without really training for it. She said that since she’d been running for 20 years her body would know what to do. And it did; she was fine. I’ve been a runner for 16 years but I wasn’t feeling my springiest my first time out after seven months off. This despite all the aforementioned walking. Jones had no such drama and trotted alongside like a perfect citizen. His only concern was that we make our usual stop at the interpretive sign so he could check his pee-mail.

Cat poop consumed: no

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