Rainy Day Dog Walk
I almost fell face-first down the stairs this morning. I donned a pair of rain boots and I briskly trotted down the stairs after retrieving my purse from my bedroom.
With my heart beating quickly from the near slapstick fall, I clipped the leash on Jack's collar. I felt slightly guilty leaving Spike behind, but walking two dogs, who were bred for pulling, by a large body of water can have a few outcomes, none of them particularly satisfying.
They could become fixated on a pigeon or duck and pull me over the ledge into the murky Lake Merritt water.
They could run different directions at such a high velocity that I tear in two, as if I were being drawn and quartered by horses.
They could pull me down the path by the lake, dragging my lifeless body behind them after all my skin gets scraped from my torso.
Or they could have an all together unpleasant altercation with another dog.
No, I definitely wasn't going to take both of them.
The lake was wet. And no, not just because a lake is inherently wet. It was wet with the drizzle that had been coming down for hours. As I opened the car door Jack gave me a hesitant look as if to say "you want me to go out there? Doggy Don't do that!" I thought of Spike, laying in the warmth of the bedroom, and suddenly I didn't feel so bad for him.
Jack eyed an egret with longing. He either wanted to become fast friends with the majestic bird, or he wanted to devour it for breakfast. No Jack, I told him, not today.
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