Morning Routine:

Being Walked by the Dog

By Jill Montgomery

Illustration by Sandy Cooch

I recently moved, along with my son and his dog, into a mobile home park. As is quite often the case in new places there are new rules. Some of those rules aren't so bad. Let's face it, at my age, quiet time after 10 p.m. is not a hard rule to abide by. What is much harder is actually staying up until 10 p.m. But the sticky wicket has proven to be the leash law. You know, where if the dog leaves the home it must be accompanied by a human and on a leash. The dog that is, not the human.

Despite the fact that the dog is technically my teenage son's, I find myself (surprise, surprise) doing most of the walking duties, especially in the morning. Or maybe I should say the dog has been walking me. The leash law has been a bit of a challenge for both of us.

Daisy is used to stepping outside in the morning, running off to do her business, and coming back whenever her little doggie stomach says mealtime. This arrangement gave me plenty of time in the morning to have multiple cups of coffee, a shower and a chance for brainwaves to start moving.

Now, however, I shower quickly while the dog whines outside the bathroom door. I nuke yesterday's leftover coffee as the dog paces back and forth in front of me, sending me reproachful looks and, I swear, gives a heavy sigh when I sit down to tie my sneakers. Then the fun begins as I try to get myself, a cup of coffee and an anxious dog all out of the door and down three narrow stairs.

Our first attempt began badly. There I was hanging onto the leash with one hand with the other hand trying to hold the keys and lock the door and unfortunately that left no hands to hold the precious coffee cup! Needless to say I ended up with spilled coffee all over the stairs, myself and Daisy dog. Not an auspicious beginning! I solved part of that problem by using a travel mug with a very secure lid.

But I have still found the dog, the leash and I imprisoned on the top stair with me yelling "Whoa" to the dog before she drags the whole kit and caboodle of us down the stairs, off the patio and through the nearest set of bushes, in a mad attempt to do her business without anyone seeing.

I think I must have the most modest dog in the world. Daisy refuses to tend to her business if I should even glance in her direction. I have to make sure I bury my nose in my coffee cup and carry an air of indifference about the whole event or I know I will never get inside to make myself a real cup of coffee. And in the spirit of fair play, the dog, who feels she must go into the bathroom with me, always turns her back with a sense of modesty that I only wish my children had had when they were toddlers and felt they had to go everywhere with me.

Even after we manage to get off the steps in one piece, Daisy and my problems continue. For one thing, we don't know who is supposed to lead and who is supposed to follow. We have tried it both ways with varying degrees of success. If I lead, Daisy tries to crowd me off the road and she treads on my heels. If she leads, I have a tendency to not pay attention and get tangled up in the leash and her heels or back legs and there goes the coffee again.

But the dog's and my biggest disagreement is the issue of speed! Are we taking a walk, or a run? My idea of a walk and Daisy's seem to be worlds apart. My pace has the dog ready to lie down and nap and Daisy's has me holding onto the leash for dear life with both hands and a flying coffee cup!

After a couple of weeks of screaming, mine, and whining, again mine, the dog and I seem to have found a rhythm that works for both of us. I find myself enjoying the faster pace and Daisy is usually content to keep the speed below a full-out run! Now as long as we don't happen across any dead woodchucks or porcupines, I think this walk thing will turn out to be a real happy addition to my morning.