first day back

So I went out to the humane society the other day, for the first time in more than two weeks—probably closer to three. It was a sunny Saturday, and full of people and dogs. There was a high drama hairball going on, with some woman seizing the moral high ground because she'd "paid good money for a pure breed dog" (only to have it repeatedly picked up by animal control), but I wasn't part of that.

Instead, I walked through the dog holding areas, looking to see who was there. I was struck again by the raw need roiling off these dogs. They are confused and lonely (and these days hot), and they don't know why they're there. I had to fight the urge to hug them all, or to take them all home. The little Boston Terrier was trembling so badly…

When it came time to choose who to walk, I made myself be firm. Instead of walking the loudest dog (rewarding bad behavior), or the one I liked most, I read the records board and selected one of the two dogs who hadn't yet been walked that day. This was Genevieve, who looked to be some Irish Setter/Golden Retriever mix.

Long-haired and gentle, Genevieve was a joy to walk. Except for when we walked past the guard dog at the helicopter yard and she got all protective and challenged the much larger German Shepherd, Genevieve was a one finger walk. I hooked my index finger through the leash handle and away we went.

At first, every few steps she came back to check in, nosing and licking my hand. Then we settled into a rhythm and it was easy. We did about a mile and a half, nice and slow in the sun, and at one point stopped in the shade so she could rest and lick my face in gratitude.

Ah!

Greg