Walked By A Dog

On a balmy Spring day, there is nothing better than taking a stroll with a small child or a dog. In those few minutes, you might learn more about the natural world than you would if you were on your own for an hour.

In my case, I walk with Gus the thirteen year old Scotty; we head down the drive, take a right at the street and wander for a couple of hundred yards down the bikeway/walkway next to the lake.

We do this twice a day, and during the cold, dark winter months we get up a head of steam: Get out, do your stuff, and head back (being environmentally responsible to bring any, uh, debris home with you). Speed and performance are our criteria.

Now, the walks have become more like a royal progress. Because dogs can perceive something like 70,000 different smells, Gus takes the considered view that each smell must be absorbed, analyzed, categorized, and – sometimes – marked in that wonderful way which dogs do.

He also observes the ducks, loons, and geese on the lake. Each Spring when we go through this transition, I suffer from a short stretch of impatience. It dissipates as Gus meanders from smell to smell because I have time to observe the buds on the trees changing each day, to see the loons and listen closely to their tremolo call, to speak to the geese, all of whom are interested in talking right back. In the morning especially, the sunlight strikes the skin and the soul with equal force.

Meandering is good, but you can’t be listening to the Walkman or ordering your day on your PDA or chattering on your cell phone. I can’t smell the smells which intrigue Gus, but there is enough to remind me that most of what I do is not nearly as important as this all-to-brief contact with the natural world.

Having said that, I am delighted to report that unlike every dog I’ve known, I still have not developed the urge to roll in something revolting as part of my “rite of Spring.” Next year,
perhaps.