Tuesday, April 8, 2014
She ain't a dumb dog.
Sasha. She’s a dog. A mixed breed. Belongs to my
neighbor. I walk Sasha. Almost every day. For a mile or two. Sometimes up
to six. For a while, I also was
walking Jack. An Irish setter. Until he was literally farmed out. He
was an incessant barker. And needed more open space. I volunteer. Taking other people’s dogs. For walks. Might as well. I walk 10
miles a day anyway. Enjoy the company of dogs. More than people. Don’t want the responsibility of owning a dog. Instead, I have two cats. Loverboy and Chenuska. Living with me. Occasionally, I bring Sasha in To meet and mix with my precious cats.
They’re all curious. About each other. I observe. Animals interacting. Entertaining.
Educational. Enlightening, too.
Yesterday, on our walk, Sasha encountered three hostile boxers. They formed an attack pack. Knocked her down. Quite a skirmish. Sasha managed to break loose. Scampered
home. Like a race horse. A wise move. I
retrieved Sasha. Took her back. To the scene of the crime. The boxers had
gone. Sasha wasn’t hesitant. A good sign. Wanted to make sure. That she wasn’t
overly traumatized. Don’t know what it all means. Whether she’s a brave dog. Or
merely a smart one. Knowing enough. To run away. When outnumbered 3-to-1. –Jim
Broede
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