Walking the dog

There is no rest for the wicked not even on Saturday mornings. As I try to sit still with my morning cup of tea Harper is before me, in a mild swivet, restless from pleasures unabated. I know that look: I want to go for a walk. So it is up and at’em and out we go.

Peripatetic Saturday strolls have the advantage the sun is up and morning sunshine stimulates our retinas – or at least mine. Harper is head-down to the ground rather.  I’ve learned dog-walks are not so much continuous trots but what the musicians call rubato. Harper loves to sniff bushes, posts, etc.  We have sudden stops to go nose-down over some amazing olfactory find. Occasionally she responds by leaving her calling card.  Harper can be quite butch viz. at posts she lifts leg like a boy dog. Them that squats to pee – there is no judging them.

Most of the neighbors use inflatable plastic christmas decorations that lie like melted puddles during the day time. The morning light shows these hot-air items are nestled among the cacti and prickly pears. I would think this makes for easy and frequent punctures. Other types of decorations would be more practical, say made of concrete. These would also be good for dogs to pee upon.

Speaking of yard trimmings I see less manger scenes made from mannequins. I suppose this is because The Baby Jesus is often stolen and changeling-like something put in His place. This ersatz white-elephant present swap is considering not at all funny.*

Harper of course is oblivious to all these Christmas creches, other than to smell if another dog has peed in the straw. I think she becomes upset to sense another  pooch has been there already in adoration of The Baby Jesus.  It gives new meaning to the proverbial Dog in the Manger.


*At least not by the homeowner. Mickey Mouse, Pokeman, or Chuckie the Horror Doll in lieu of The Christ Child evokes hilarity and mirth even when one tries to suppress such.