Ends of the Leash

For years now, decades actually, I have gone more than out of my way for off leash play time with the dogs. Time we can spend together – but not bound – is precious. Dogs can sprint ahead on a puppy surge, or lag behind performing detailed olfactory inspections. If I want to jog or run, or stop for lunges or push-ups, I don't have to bear Nicholai's whining – "Let's get this show on the road." He can get his own show on the road in his time, and I can get it in mine.

At least once per week, if not twice, I like to make sure all the dogs have a change of pace. For young Kelley, it might be doggie daycare, or a couple of short but intense games of fetch. For middle aged Izzy, it might involve leash-walking in busy areas, building her tolerance to crowds (with plenty of yummy treats in a pocket). For Mr. Pickle, it now entails a meander around our local environs with plenty of time to stop and smell the roses.

These on-leash walks with my canine main-man have become quite a genial neighborhood experience. With Nicholai decked out in a colorful harness, and plastic bags stuffed in my pocket, we mosey up and down the streets, making note of recent changes: homes for sale, new garden beds (plentiful, with more springing up all the time), remodeling projects, and new construction (not so much lately). We may chat with a neighbor about roses suffering rot in the recent rains, or with another about the joys of old black labs and the trials and tribulations of young ones.

Nicholai strolls along with nary a tug on the leash. Once pooped, he waits patiently if I stop to yak. We have done this so many times by now, and he has so many opportunities to follow the beat of his own drummer, that we fall into an easy rhythm like the old canine-human couple we are. I'll get my own exercise later, so I have all the time in the world to lollygag along.

These days, Nicholai's developed a new habit. About three-quarters of the way through our stroll, he steps directly into my path, stops and stands stock still. He turns to look over his shoulder at me, whines then takes a step back, bumping his backside into me. Over time, I've learned he wants me to massage his back legs, give him a spinal adjustment (about mid-back), and most recently, he's really good with some kisses on top of the head. I, of course, threw that in myself, but my smooching does not dissuade his insistence on this moment of comforting contact.

He's my old guy. Part of what I love about him is the way we've developed our own communication and our own routines – just by being together, paying attention, and caring enough about one another across the species barrier to give a little. With Nicholai at the other end of the leash, I've got quite a partner.