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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