A gentle rain began to fall about a quarter mile into our morning walk. It was just enough to warrant a head-to-toe shake from the dogs every ten minutes.
As we walked, the pup (Willow, our fourth-month-old Great Dane) paused in her tracks, perked up her ears, and turned towards every little noise. For her, every sound is a new experience, and this morning was full of them.
Rain hitting the garbage bags lining the street, waiting for pickup.
A truck gently splashing through a puddle.
The staccato of raindrops hitting a sunroom’s metal roof.
The mmreep of a frog hiding in a drainage swale.
Heavier drops of rain hitting the ground when the breeze kicked up.
The drip of a leaky gutter.
I didn’t notice any of these sounds until she slightly tilted her head and wrinkled her brow, trying to figure out each one. What I thought was a nice quiet morning turned out to be filled with fascinating noise.
It was a rainy weekend, so my daily walks with the dogs were wet. I didn’t hear any thunder and there weren’t any downpours, but I was glad I wore my rain jacket. I needed a few towels to dry off the beasts when we returned home.
As we walked, I noticed how quiet rainy walks are. We didn’t encounter anyone else in the morning or the evening. Only a couple of cars drove by. No birds were singing. No squirrels were chittering. It’s just us, a cool breeze, and the gentle background noise of raindrops.
Both dogs are reluctant to go out at first, but enjoy it once we get going. Every once in a while, they pause to shake off the water, starting from the head and working to the tail. Thirsty? There’s always a puddle to sample. Mud along the side of the road? They don’t even notice it as they walk through.
I used to run with Labrador retrievers. Cold and rainy? They loved it. We called it “Labrador weather.” The more inclement, the better. Driving rain? Bring it on. Freezing rain? Better watch your step. It’s pouring. Their look said, “Can we go outside?”
Some of my best runs and road races were on rainy days. The rain is a cooling agent against the heat running generates. So I could push a little harder and go a little long with a gentle shower. I ran some of my best training and race times in the rain. Running in the rain is empowering. Nothing can stop you, not even the elements.
When we adopted our Westie, the previous owners had bought him a monogrammed raincoat. A raincoat for a dog? Nope. Not for my dog. I never wore anything special to run in. If it’s raining, you’re going to get wet. Get used to it. Savor it. Enjoy it.
I’ll admit, I was a little worried. Our new Great Dane pup didn’t want anything to do with walking on a leash. Unlike our other dog, who is always ready to go a mile or two, the noob just “muled.” She sat there looking at me, She wouldn’t budge.
A walk around the block would have been great exercise. There are so many people and dogs to get to know in the neighborhood. We needed to lawyer this skill before she got too big.
I tried different collars. I tried a harness around her chest. I tried laying out a trail of snacks up the block six feet apart. No luck. She wouldn’t leave her beloved backyard.
Of course I read all I could about her hesitancy. Most said to just give her time. And that was good advice.
As she grew, she became more curious. So I clipped on the leash and let it hang. She didn’t mind running around with it loose. When I sat on the ground, she couldn’t resist coming to see what I was up to. Or to crawl in my lap and lick my face.
After that, I sat in the garage, then the driveway, and then in the neighbors yard. Slowly but surely she ventured farther from the house.
But our Westie was the one who saved the day. Where he goes, she likes to follow. Along the garden wall to chase lizards. Into the dishwasher to lick dishes. Into the bathroom to pull out the toilet paper. And down the street for a walk.
To the neighbor’s house. Then to the curve in the road. To the end of our street. And yesterday, around the block! Our walks ate part of our daily routine again.
I’m embarrassed to admit that he’s lived there for about three years. We’ve waved at each other pulling into and out of our driveways. We’ve both been working out in the yard at the same time. But for whatever reason, we never took the time to shake hands and talk.
What made the difference? My dog. She’s only three months old and shy. Each day I take her out in front of our house a little longer and a little further to get her used to leash walking and the sounds of the neighborhood.
Yesterday, my neighbor and his friend were talking in a foreign language and my dog was very interested. It was as if she could understand what they were saying. With wagging tail, she pulled in their direction, determined to join the conversation.
My neighbor, who had also been power washing his driveway, came over to see her, and we got talking about dogs. He’s got a gorgeous light brown and white Australian Shepherd who runs freely around his backyard, but never leaves their property. Of course, when I explained that Willow was a Great Dane, his eyes got big and he chuckled, “Oh. She’s going to be huge!”
So I found out that his name is Ricardo. He’s from Portugal and his wife is from Brazil. He’s got a handyman business and he gave me his business card. I let him borrow my surface washing disk to finish up his driveway. And just like that, we knew each other.
It’s about time. I know most of my other neighbors on both sides of the street and talk to them all pretty often. But this family eluded me for the longest time.
Knowing the neighbors has given me a great sense of security. We all watch each other’s homes and keep an eye out for unfamiliar cars that drive by. When a door-to-door salesperson tells me all my neighbors have bought his product, I know they haven’t.
I wonder why it’s easier to get to know some neighbors than others. Is it a cultural barrier? Age difference? Lives that are too busy to pause for a moment and say hi? Did Covid make us withdraw so far into our own little worlds that we forgot how to get back? Maybe it’s a little bit of all those things.
The solution? Talk a walk. And take a dog with you.
When we brought Winston home last June, I started taking him for walks around our neighborhood every morning and evening. An eight-month-old West Highland White Terrier puppy has energy to spare, so we explored every street in our corner of the community.
When we brought home puppy number two, a Great Dane, our walking habits changed. At eight weeks, Willow wanted nothing to do with leashes, walks or the neighborhood. She was content staying close to home and exploring the back yard. Both dogs still get plenty of exercise wrestling with each other and chasing each other around the yard.
When I took Winston out for a walk around the block last week I realized how much I missed those walks. Those walks around familiar streets make me feel part of the neighborhood and the community.
I enjoy watching the progress of lots being cleared and houses being built on the last wooded lots. Boxes along the curb or a rental truck in the driveway announces who is moving in our out even before a realtor puts a sign up in the yard.
I’ve gotten to know a lot more of my neighbors and on my walks. They are working in the yard, on their car, or getting some exercise themselves. We always pause at the bus stop so the kids have a chance to pet Winston. Plus, we get to know the other dogs who live near us. Some bark at us from inside of their house, while others are out for walks, too.
I enjoy everyone’s Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas decorations. I’m amazed at the weekly piles of mattresses, appliances, and furniture on trash collection days. Squirrels, bunnies and cats watch as we walk by. If we time it right, we get to hear the owls talking to each other at dawn or dusk.
One neighbor has a garage full of birds singing in cages. Another is restoring a car from the 1940’s. Some greet us with heavy Russian or Hispanic accents. Many have gotten a new roof in the past year. One had the roof torn off by a tornado. Lots of cars parked along the street announce who’s having a party. A walker in front of one garage door hasn’t been moved in months.
When I go for walks, I feel alive. I think of stories to write. I think of prayers to pray. I find coins on the street. I check out what’s in people’s recycling bins. I whistle back at the birds. I feel like I live here.
Willow is coming along. She was willing to walk on a least around our front yard today. Just a few more steps every day and before you know it, she’ll be walking me around the block, too.
As I pulled into the driveway of a friend’s house, the neighbor (also a friend) was walking a tan french bulldog in her front yard. She dog-sits in her home, and this was her latest guess, a little girl named Poppy, just a year old.
Of course I walked over to say hi, but Poppy was having none of that. She got into a defensive stance and let out her fiercest growl, letting me know that I was not welcome. I can’t help but laugh when I am held at bay by fifteen pounds of pup. As I chatted with my friend, I sat on the ground about five yards away. Once I did that, Poppy’s curiosity got the best of her, and she took a cautious step in my direction. Numerous sniffs and steps later, she was smelling the back of my hand, her stumpy tail beginning to vibrate back and forth. Once I ran my hand down her back, she crawled up into my lap and my friend said, “Now you’re speaking her love language.” I only had a few minutes to pet her back and scratch her tummy, and we parted as each other’s new best friend.
The night before, at the meal before bible study, I met a first time attender, Troy, who shared a very different dog story with me. After a moment of small talk he told me about the dog who bit his seven-year-old daughter. The daughter was across the street at a neighbor’s house for a birthday party. Something triggered their friendly and familiar German Shepherd to attack, and the little girl had to be airlifted to a trauma center. Thankfully, doctors were able to save her life and repair the damage. In fact, his daughter was there that night for the children’s program and she looked just fine.
I asked, “Did they put the dog down?”
He replied, “No. The case was dismissed. She still lives across the street.”
Yes, that would make me very uncomfortable. Plus, I’ll bet there’s a lot more to this story.
Anyway, when it comes to dogs or people, it’s not always the gruffest and grouchiest ones you need to watch out for. The friendliest ones might be the ones who really want a piece of you.
After searching the whole rack of leashes, collars and harnesses at my favorite local pet store, I had to ask an assistant manager, “Do you still carry leather leashes?”
He said, “No, but I wish we did.”
I replied, “I guess they make them too well. You only ever have to buy one.”
Unless you get a second dog. When we took our shepherd/lab mix pup for training, the first instructions were “Get a metal prong collar and a six-foot leather leash.” We were glad we did. Nylon and cotton leashes cut into my hands, unlike the leather, which gets more comfortable the more we use it walking, exercising and training a large (or small), energetic dog. The one we have has lasted over twelve years. Even the vet commented, “Nice leash!”
Our newest pup, a Great Dane, isn’t large yet. But she visibly grows each day. With a Westie one hand, we need a second leash for the other. None of the local pet stores have leather leashes. I found a cheap nylon one on the pet store clearance table that will do for now, but it’s junk and I hate it. So it’s off to Amazon we go.
I like to support local businesses, but they don’t often have what I need. I don’t enjoy feeding the Amazon monster, but there I can usually find what I’m looking for.
Anyone who’s read any of my blog posts would know that dogs are at the top of my list. My life has been filled with dogs and dog stories. I love going to the zoo to see the elephants, lions, and giraffes, but I love coming home to our dogs even more.
Other pets along the way have included aquarium fish, hermit crabs, a few cats, and a parakeet. They all had bit parts in our life. All the awards for best supporting actors go to the dogs.
Mild-mannered Gabriel the Labrador retriever pinned a suspicious repairman against the wall in our Baltimore home. Chica was the world’s fastest three-legged chihuahua. Michael the Labrador had enough energy to accompany me on six-mile runs through the snow in Des Moines, Iowa. Samson the lab/shepherd mix ran off energy by chasing a laser pointer at breakneck speed up and down the street. Sable the Bassett hound howled along with every siren in the distance. Gabriel and Rachel, yellow and black labs respectively, retieved balls until they dropped from exhaustion.
Each one was fluent in the dialect of our home. Their vocabulary included “ball,” “bone,” “park,” and “bike ride” as well as the requisite “sit,” “come,” and “heel.”
More than just animals or pets, they’ve always been our guardian angels. Presently assigned to us: Winston the West Highlands White Terrier and Willow the Great Dane.
We were dog-less for the first time ever. That spring, we put both of our Labrador retrievers to sleep. Gabriel was fifteen and simply aged out. Rachel, age ten, started limping with a tumor in her rear leg the vet said was most likely a cancer you could treat but not cure.
A few months later, my wife blindfolded me and took me and our two children for a drive through Iowa farmland. About an hour west of Des Moines, we stopped, I took off the blindfold, and found myself on a typical Iowa farm. What was not typical was the sound of many barking dogs. My wife had brought me here to pick out a Labrador retriever puppy for my birthday.
So I sat down in a big box of eight-week old chocolate puppies to decide which one to take home. There are few things more fun than sitting under a pile of furry, wiggling, wagging, yipping, whining, licking, and sniffing Lab puppies. I picked a male that wasn’t the shyest nor the most aggressive, and we drove home with Michael. While he wasn’t shy or aggressive, Michael turned out to be a wild ball of energy.
Waite for it... 