Emma Dog still seemed sore today from yesterday’s walk. I wanted to go out again to try an experiment that occurred to me on the ditch yesterday. So I stuck my water bottle carrier and other walking accouterments into my backpack in hopes of sneaking out without her making me feel like Hitler for leaving her behind.
Emma luxuriates in her success.
It didn’t work. Naturally. Emma is much too smart, and her senses are way too keen, for me to get away with anything like that.
She played it masterfully, too. (Dogs who aren’t the results of millennia of both ruthless natural selection and genetic engineering for the ability to manipulate humans are called “wolves.”) She planted herself in my way and smiled at me, a big Lab smile that said, loud and clear, “You’re my loving Daddy, and I trust you, yes, I trust you, not to try sneaking off so you can go for a walk without me.”
I said, “I’ll get your leash.”
As it turned out, Emma did fine. So did I. The experiment, which entailed my trying to do the usual mile and a half walk alternating between flip flops and bare feet, was a success. I did it; and despite the fact I only got about five hours’ sleep last night, I actually felt invigorated after the walk. Which as a general thing exercise does not do for me.
As for why I was looking to try any such damfool thing as walking on a New Mexico ditchbank in my bare freakin’ feet, the explanation will have to wait until a later date. Heh, heh.
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