Walkin' the Dog

Stepping out of the car, I glance at her- her nose keen to the shifting, cool wind, and her tail, high and tense. The fun is about to start! As we unload from the car, Morgan can hardly wait for me to change her to her long leash, so she can bound over to the side of the tiny pond she loves to swim in. She tries to jump out of the car, as she always does. Of course, I'm faster, and the disappointment is palpable when I tell her to wait. Finally, she is allowed out- happy to be on her way. A great dog, she can always be trusted to try to pull my arm off until we are at the lake, where she typically dashes through a dense stand of cat tails to splash in. Her immediate desire satisfied, she splashes peacefully for a few minutes, her face one of pure glee as she uses her big paws to stir up the water, ending up with murky water all over her face and head for her effort. Once she's finished, we head off through the Preserve. She stalks through the high grass beside me, clearly enjoying the feeling of grass in her blocky face. She plays the constant game of "hurry up and wait"- running full speed until she is ahead of me and at the very end of her leash, then waiting on me to pass her, and typically for me to call her to me, before catching back up. Soon, we arrive at the tiny overlook, where I can take a moment and look for the inevitable turtle, sunning itself on moss covered logs in the marsh some 50 feet below. Morgan, of course, can hardly wait to go, and her excitement can't be put off, so we head out again. Next, we head through the flat bottom land, still somewhat thick with high grass, but low enough that I can walk in it without fearing what I might step on. Morg running full steam as much as she can, we trace our usual path through the worst areas, then we step on to a motocross path that has somehow been placed in the Preserve, making the walking considerably easier. Paralleling or walking directly on the path, we head through the rest of the bottom. Finally, we come to a lone old tree, gnarly and completely out of place, until you notice the small copse of trees across the motocross trail. This is the point where we usually turn around, and Morg thinks faster than I do, leading me back towards the lake. Sniffing hard, she finds something she is fascinated with, though I know enough to know it can't be good. Sure enough, as it so often does, the nose leads her to a rather large, fresh pile of scat- presumably deer. Before I can stop her, she is beginning the roll, head first into the pile. A sharp correction stops her in her tracks, but she sulks for a few minutes after. Then- surprising both of us- the small family of deer that lives in the preserve make their presence known, dashing out of the cover of some undergrowth at the edge of another area of trees and heading deeper into the cover they provide. Morg, of course, would love nothing better than to chase them, but that is just impossible, so she sulks some more. When I pick up several longish sticks, her black ears perk up and it is clear that she knows her business. Following the same trail back to the car, she can hardly contain her exuberance, trying many times to grab the sticks out of my hand and being told an equal number of times to wait, a command which she has yet to comprehend. Soon, we return to the lakeside, where Morg again dashes for the water, this time turning to look at me, waiting for the inevitable. Mere seconds pass, a wild look of expectation in her eye that I can never resist watching for a second before I give in to her desires. The stick is thrown, just far enough for her to swim for it, and she is off. Dutifully, she returns the stick to shore, but decides to play toss with it before giving it up, throwing it up in the air and catching it several times, though the stick is half as long as she is. Finally, I grab it playfully and toss again, this time a bit further, since she's still working on being comfortable swimming, rather than splashing. The game continues until she is worn out- usually for 15 or 20 minutes, after the 20 minute walk- and then we head back home, an exhausted dog and her completely devoted Mom ready to relax for a while.