Meadow Park plus, Springfield

Consider if the samurai and his wife had dogs with them while they were walking through the forest. The horse may have provided transportation but it just took off when things got messy. Jones, for example, wouldn’t have let the bandit-rapist do his dirty work and live to laugh maniacally about it.  And Ramona would be comfort and succor if anyone did get injured. Maybe the wife wouldn’t have thrown herself to the ground in uncontrollable sobs quite so many times with the love of a good dog to sustain her. And I would love to see what Kurosawa would do to re-enact the dogs’ version of events. Hello, remake?

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

If tonight’s walk were a children’s book, here are some potential titles: 

Say Hello to My Butt: Dogs We Meet on the Street

Will Your Dog Eat Grass?

Ramona: Building Bridges of Friendship and Understanding

Kids: Friend or Foe?

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park Plus, Springfield

A handful of pretzel nibs and a how can I be so tired droop on the brown chair was all it took to recharge me for an easy walk around the park. The peewee Little League team was out playing catch and one of the dads on the sidelines was tossing a small girl into the air. She seemed to love it, but I just can’t watch this kind of thing. I kept seeing him drop her, her life as a poor crippled child, and his eternal torment. There was another group of young teenage boys on the other side of the park playing basketball and I wondered where are all the girls? What are they doing on this fine afternoon?

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

My dad recently referred to me as a “career woman,” which summoned visions of shoulder pads and officious heels, presentations in board rooms, and an angular body resistant to sensuality. I did not want to agree with this assessment. I still don’t. I’m a librarian, damn it, not a corporate moll. I am not profit-driven. When you work harder and longer around here all you get is tired. But here I am in the late afternoon walking my dog, having rushed home on the bus after office hours to squeeze in a little home time before my evening shift at the desk begins.  I can suddenly understand why there has been this so-called epidemic of high-powered women dropping out of the business world to stay home with their kids. When you have to work so hard to straddle the two worlds, the busy silly one full of politicking and striving and deadlines stops mattering very much. Wouldn’t the world be a better place if I stayed home and nurtured my dog? Ah hell, what do I know. He’d probably go crazy and so would I.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

We know you’re spending a lot of time on this journal cancellation project, the memo said, but we’d like to know just how much time and what other duties you’re not doing as a result. I’m not leaving work until 7:30. I’m not making meatloaf. I’m not responding to that gracious email of two weeks ago from my former boss. I’m not shaving my legs in a timely manner. I’m not folding the laundry. I’m not making a quirky card to celebrate L.’s latest coup. I’m not reading improving literature. I’m not able to withstand the pull of Honey Nut Cheerios. I’m not walking my dog until 9:00 on a school night.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

In the spirit of Z. and also Hemingway in their joint admonition against adjectives, I will simply provide a list of descriptive verbs to tell the story of tonight’s walk: bundle, razor, shiver, crunch, grind, cajole, discipline, wait, caution, consider, calculate, slip, steer, enthuse, adjust, loop, extend, thaw.

I wish there had been a fish or an explosion, I really do.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

Speaking of crushing his little spirit, P. has a theory that because domestic dogs were originally bred for work–herding, hunting, hauling–but now they mostly lie around and wait to be fed, they suffer from a kind of mental illness. They need to feel useful, to have meaningful occupation. It’s analogous to Betty Friedan’s Ivy League-educated women reduced to constructing casseroles. So perhaps I perpetuate the Canine Mystique when I prevent Jones from smelling every shrub and carrying home dead squirrels, despite the evolutionary imperative of his beagle-y instincts. Unfortunately I have no foxes to pursue, nor moles to exhume, so he has to content himself with monitoring the cats that live next door. I wish he had an instinct to clean toilets or pull weeds; I’d keep him plenty busy.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

We’re digging into the mailbag today at the doglog. This from a reader in Yerington, Nevada:

Dear Walking the Dog, I see people talking to their dogs all the time. I’ve heard that talking to young children is good for their language and brain development. My dog is at least as intelligent as a one-year-old kid, so if I talk to him more will that make him even smarter? Signed, Wondering

Dear Wondering, I’m no expert, but I’d guess no. In fact, it might diminish your own intelligence in the process. 

Keep those cards and letters coming!

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

On a trip, every rest stop and parking lot seems like an adventure, not to even mention the likelihood of finding rabbit heads, but there is something calming about a familiar loop around one’s own neighborhood. The air was misty and smelled of woodsmoke and the pulp mill out in Thurston. Back in this forgiving bioregion, the ecology of my nose holes has returned to normal after a weekend forming nostril stalactites. The contrast between the two places is stark, but I think I will always use the Owens Valley as my frame of reference: drier than, higher than, paler than, brighter than, more isolated than. 

back by popular demand…

Cat poop consumed: yes (less cat poop than)

 

Meadow Park plus, Springfield

Suddenly it’s wintertime. I mean, happy daylight savings and all, but it’s dark at both ends of the dog walking day now, and also raining. We’re proud residents of the Northwest so we play like we don’t mind. Like K. said, if you waited for it to stop raining in order to exercise, you’d never exercise. Another pearl: there’s no bad weather, just bad gear. But who likes damp socks? Thus, this may be the year I commit to a pair of wellingtons and Jones gets one of those goofy dog jackets. He truly is a shivery, short-haired guy, but I realize a bona fide dog jacket will make me one of Those Dog Owners. We’ll see. Today, though, a window opened up just long enough for us to do the extended play loop around the Meadow Park environs sans umbrella.