A day of walking dogs

I was wide awake at 5 a.m. today, so we walked to the park and were in it by six. This is what it looked like:
We ran into lots of friends and ended up spending about two hours there. By the time we came home, Henry was dog tired, and Simone was dog tired. Tired is good. (Too bad the same is not true of children.) Later my daughter wanted to make good on a promise to volunteer at a local animal shelter, so we went over to Sean Casey Animal Rescue on East 3rd Street in Windsor Terrace, and my day of walking dogs continued. Passing the parrots, cockatoos, a shar-pei puppy, and a very large tortoise, we headed to the dog room. First we walked a pitbull for about half an hour. This dog was sweet with humans but didn't like other dogs very much. R. had her on a long rope leash and soon had rope burn--that was one strong animal, in need of training and a ton of exercise. Then we took out a collie mix and a beagle mix, both pullers. Suddenly I remembered why you leash train dogs when they are puppies. An untrained, full-grown canine is all muscle and sinew and thwarted energy, and walking one of those creatures on a leash is not a lot of fun. Still, they need exercise so badly that anyone who has a spare half hour and can handle a strong dog should consider giving a little time. (They have plenty of smaller and easier dogs too.)

We came home and I took the whippets to see the end of the Brooklyn St. Patrick's Day Parade, arriving just in time to see a line of horses with tails dyed green and a garbage truck, and to hear bagpipes skirling in the distance. How gently the whips trot along beside me on a loose leash, and what a pleasure it suddenly was to walk my own dogs--again.

What's to dream about?

I wrote, "I dream of grass and trees." What's to dream about? I have grass and trees, right here! I have acres and acres of parkland to wander in every morning with my dogs, the sun comes up over the hill, the red-winged blackbirds sing from the topmost branches of the trees near the dog beach, a pair of cardinals hop in the leaves; there is snow for the whippets to eat, and friends to meet, and when I come home there is the New York Times waiting for me on the doorstep in its blue plastic bag (so useful for dog walks later in the day) and coffee to be made and breakfast to be eaten. It is really all quite blissful provided nothing goes wrong in the park, which it does occasionally. In fact, if my day could stop right there, be rounded by a little sleep and start all over again with the same thing, I might be perfectly happy--for a few days at least.


I met Bita on the path. She loves Henry and Simone and always gives them a treat when she sees them.

Thank you dogs. There are dogless folks who walk in the park every day, but I know that without you I would not be hauling myself out of bed before dawn seven days a week--my world would be all asphalt, for sure.