I went for a little walk the other morning.
Before I elaborate, has anyone noticed that at some point in our lives, “walks” become “little walks”?
I’m convinced the length of the walk hasn’t changed. Ten years ago, I lived in the same house and albeit with a different dog, I’d set the habitual navigation wand in place. Three blocks south, turn left, through the park, three blocks east, left, and home again.
Man’s best friend – both of them – knew it well, stopped at regular smelling posts, relieved at regular dropping posts, and ran out of gas about a block from home. It was ideally timed for both of us, particularly on the afternoon run – she, being the dog (not Wanda), bee-lining for the water bowl and me bee-lining for the liquor cabinet.
The morning walks are always a little more subdued, ending in orange juice for me and a chicken treat for mini-me.
Someone at some point did suggest I looked like my dog. It’s happened a number of occasions over the years. I fail however, to see the logic given the two animals were of differing breed and completely varied facial features. Even the fur was incompatible.
Inconsiderate dolts just don’t get that they’re offending the individuality of my dogs when they say that sort of thing.
Never mind, I digress. For, at some point in retirement, I must have turned to Wanda and told her I was off for a “little walk”. Maybe a large walk would have concerned her, moreso for the sake of an ageing hound than a husband with emerging ailments.
Nevertheless, hence my thoughtful addition to the dialogue. Since then, it’s been a “little” walk, occasionally a “wee” walk, a “short” walk or a “quick” walk. Nothing fast about it, I can assure you. The dog wouldn’t allow it.
Let’s just say the distance remained as “brief” as it had a decade before, the pace similar, and the dogs – well, they changed but instincts have led them down similar paths.
It’s worth adding though, that there are new people. And like us, some have introduced new four-legged babies to their families.
There are always familiar faces on the route, mostly friendly except for one sour old wretch who responds to my “top of the morning” with a grumpy “sure it is” and a scowl towards the bicycle side of the shared pavement.
“Good afternoon” is met with a wide berth. I’ve asked Wanda if she thinks I’m doing something wrong. I’m yet to receive a serious answer beyond the audible chuckle, just like the one she’d exhume over an edition of Funny Home Videos. What? Do I smell? Still no answer – I’m blaming the dog.
I don’t carry a mobile phone with me. Never really saw the need. I always saw my walk as bonding time between me and my best mutt.
Anyway, one passer-by got me thinking when he stopped to ask if he could use my phone to call a friend he was supposed to meet in the nearby park.
“What did people ever do before mobile phones, hey?” he asked. I’m assuming the question was rhetorical, but valid all the same.
To ask, he must have noticed how well I hold my age. He probably didn’t think anyone of my youthful appearance could possibly remember a pre-mobile era. Regardless, I am indeed old enough to know the answer to his question, and found myself offering up some wisdom to the young man.
“Young man,” I said matter-of-factly, looking down at my hound which by now was keen to move to the next sniffing tree.
“Before mobile phones, we walked our dogs, all the while chatting with those in our presence. It was lovely. Sometimes, we even stopped to discuss issues impacting our neighbourly circumference. We smiled, and we admired our surroundings.
“When we returned to our humble homes, we shared our experiences face to face with our families who looked us in the eye with genuine interest.”
I would have continued my well-rounded speech. It seems however, that the grumpy old wretch carries her mobile for safety reasons and had offered it to our desperate friend for a quick call.
Oh well, come on dog. Time to go home.
