Saturday, June 18, 2005
Marathon Max: Let's Go For A Walk
Nothing excites our rescue dog Max more than the red walking leash, unless it is something that involves food. Yes, Max loves to go for a walk. He isn't the easiest dog to walk but I've had worse.
The biggest hurdle is getting him to sit still long enough to put the leash on. He twists and turns, shakes his head, tries to lick you hand, pants, shivers with excitement and looks for his toy football, all at the same time.
Once the leash is in place the question becomes, should I take him through the sun room to the garage or just the long way around the house through the gate. Hmm. The sunroom involves passing by two dishes of cat kibble and take the chance that he consumes enough to choke him before I can drag him through the garage door.
But then out in the open space he turns on his nose. Boxwood, a small utility box and ivy surrounding the mailbox base are key points to stop and smell and tinkle. Then it is off to the races.
Max runs ahead, ears flapping to the extent the leash will allow. Then just as suddenly he will find some scent to explore and more areas to deposit his calling card. He must tell all animals in the area: "MAX WAS HERE!!" You would think that there would be some sixth sense a in a dog that would tell him, "Hey! I am going for a walk. There will be lots of places to stop and leave my card. I should save a little up for the end." But there is not. So most of the cards are given away before we reach the corner. He continues to think that he has a deposit to make, but sadly this is a figment of his imagination.
Max is a sprinter, not a long distance runner. He starts out full of life, running ahead, straining at the leash to the point of choking himself, but by the time we go half way around the block, his run has lapsed into a walk. Another half a block and he is walking steadily by your side and by the time we get to the corner of our street again, he is utterly pooped, sometimes stopping to sit and looking at you with an expression that says, "I am not moving any further. You will have to carry me."
At this point he has to be pushed to go, walks behind you and you often have to tug a little on his lead. But, if you can coax him to give it a little bit more and reach the point where he can see "HIS HOUSE" again, the excitement floods his eyes, the ears go up, the energy returns and it is a race to the finish line.
He runs down the sidewalk, across the street, up the driveway, through the back gate, around the house to the big orange water dish where he quenches his thirst with a long drink of water. Then it is on to find his beloved football and hop on his hammock for a long lazy snooze in the shade. Such a tired but happy puppy.
Submitted to Carnival of the Dogs, hosted by Mickey's Musings.