Walking my old man.

Riley’s got a tumor on his elbow. It’s apparently not painful – he still has a lot of joy in him as he trots around the house or teases Bailey with a toy. But, it does take up space in his joint, so he limps. This has slowed him down on our walks so much that we’ve been leaving him home so that I can reach a cardio heart rate and so that Bailey can get tired enough to be tolerable.

Leaving him home breaks my heart. He watches us leave from the kitchen and I wonder what’s in his mind. I also worry that he’ll get broader in the beam than he already is (which is considerable). I’ve done my best to make sure he knows I still love him. He’s getting more combing and more scratches behind his ears. I’ve taken to looking for opportunities that he can join me wherever I am, in the yard, in the bathroom while I shower (I know, I know), following around as I pick up or clean. Stephen and I have even adjusted our work-from-home schedules enough so that there’s rarely more than 2 days in a week where he has to be alone for the whole day.

Still, it didn’t quite feel like enough. So, I started walking him this week again…just for short little trips around the block. It’s been funny to watch him dance around when he sees the leash and trot out to the back gate in such breathless anticipation. He takes off down the driveway like he’s a puppy again. It took me a long time (and another dog) to train Riley to walk on a loose leash. He always used to pull me along at his pace. Once Bailey came along, for reasons I don’t understand, he just started doing it. Bailey rarely pulls on me – unless it’s raining and she thinks we’re headed toward home. But, alone, Riley’s back to his old tricks. At least for the first few houses.

When we get to the end of the driveway, he has to race across the street and smell and mark the ornamental hitching post in my neighbors’ front lawn. On some days the smelling can last for 2 minutes. I feel like a fool standing across the street from my own house holding a leashed dog as he stands and sniffs. Once he’s left his message, we head toward the next house across the street. This house has pine trees. He’s always loved pine fronds and pinecones. When we were in Colorado when he was a puppy he ate bushels full of them. So, he smells the pine needles under the trees and inspects any pinecones that might be lying around. He doesn’t pick them up – that’s a chore Bailey’s taken over. And then he trots over to the third house to the west and wanders through their beautifully maintained flowerbeds. He’ll pee in one of them and I just have to pray that the neighbors who live there understand my indulgence. They’re dog people, I’m pretty sure they do.

And then comes the psychology. I don’t know if he really needs to go all the way around the block. But I need him to go all the way around the block so I can be reassured that he’s not too old or too lame to walk around the block. I’ll have to accept, fairly soon, I’m afraid, that he IS too old or too lame to make the simple trek. Until then, it’s a full block.

So, I lie to him. There’s nothing wrong with lying to your dog. People do it all the time when they pretend to throw a ball. (Just for the record, Riley would never be fooled by such a pedestrian lie…unless there were treats involved. Bailey has chased many an imaginary ball.) So, I lie to Riley. I say, in a very excited voice, “Is that a squirrel?” And he takes ten, very quick, very lively steps and looks around avidly for the squirrel. Then, he slows back down to his plod. He looks back over his shoulder at me and gives me one of his big smiles.. I imagine he’s chuckling and thinking something like “Huh, huh. Ya got me that time, Mom. There wasn’t a squirrel at all, was there?”

I lie to him that I think I see one of the kids. I lie to him that we’re going home. I save the “k-word” for the last lie because I know it’s the most powerful. I know, of course that using the k-word makes it impossible for Riley to ever have a healthy relationship with a cat. But, then again, my husband and my daughter really can’t have healthy relationships with cats either. So, what the heck, it’s all in the family.

So, as we round the corner, heading toward home, I say “Riley! Is that a kitty?” Before we know it we’re back in front of the house and he’s panting like he’s just run all the way around the block. He picks up the newspaper and carries it dutifully to the back gate, where he trades it for a treat. I pat him on the head and tell him he’s a very good dog.

He’ll rest the whole rest of the day. So far, taking him out two days in a row hasn’t been good. I have to start lying before we get to the end of the street. So, we’ll keep this pattern up for a while and see where we end up.