Adventures in Dog-Walking

And what we can learn about our own energy

There is always something to learn. Every damn day. Often—we have to examine or pay attention to find the lesson. Other times the lesson is thrust at us unmistakably.

As I’ve previously mentioned we’re spending the summer in a mountain region of Arizona. Surrounded by national forest trails, hilly cart paths, and lush golf fairways every day.

Due to local regulations and simple common sense, I walk all three of my rescue dogs on leash every morning. Lots of critters and plenty of other dogs encountered daily. We’ve seen javelinas and coyotes—gi-normous elk—and the usual assortment of bunny rabbits and squirrels—and a bear sighting.

A few major things have been revealed.

1. They’re not leash-trained.

2. They’re not socialized with other dogs outside their own pack.

3. They’re yard dogs—albeit a big-ass fenced-in property back home in Texas—but when they want to go after something they expect to be able to.

Referring you back to an essay from last fall for a deeper dive into their personalities and environs.

So all this is new—for them—and for me.

When we lost Oliver suddenly back on June 3 we lost our calm—our pack leader. Walking them two-by-two just made more sense. Ollie could always calm Mikey’s anxiety. Mikey as assumed pack leader status—in his own mind. Willie ain’t having it.

No way I’m walking them together as a pack. Impossible. I’ve tried. If they all get going the same direction in a hurry—240 pounds of 4-legged-drive torque is more than my 66-year-old transmission can handle. And normally it’s two or three different directions at once. After almost eight weeks of everyday walking—it is getting more manageable.

Secondly—I’m getting 2-3 miles of hills every morning between 5:30-6:30 AM. Arizona doesn’t honor Daylight Savings Time. Sunrise and sunset come an hour early—or as Zonies like to say, exactly on time. I’ve been experimenting with walking two then the other solo and mixing up the pairings. Two pairings work—one decidedly does not.

Luke, Willie, Mikey L-R

Luke and Willie can walk together perfectly. Lukie understands his 3rd place ranking in the pack and always defers to the more alpha. Hence Luke and Mikey also get along nicely together. Willie and Mikey—not so much. They get along just fine—but the power struggle for lead dog position is constant. It wears me the fuck out—never mind if we see other dogs or a rabbit—then it’s on. You might as well strap skates or roller blades on my feet and pick me up when I hit the border.

Point being I do double walks each morning and I’m loving it.

To break it up—when the sun is high—we throw them in the back of the Tahoe three-four times a week and find a secluded stream or lakeside to let them run around and swim.

So given the pack dynamics and consideration for Willie’s osteoarthritis—which won’t slow him down mentally—but certainly reduces his stamina—I typically walk him solo. We take a gentler pace than I do with the other two knuckleheads.

As we roll up on other dog walkers I assess from a distance the general look and feel. Is it someone mindlessly walking along talking into—or looking at their phone—completely unaware of their surroundings?

Let’s take this little spur boys!

Is it Johnny hard-trail-guy with his two Rotties off-leash? What? They’re under voice command!

Let’s bang a left boys!

Is it the overly friendly—every dog gets along—Maltese pair with the cute pink bows—can I please pet yours?

Yeah-No. Fuck that. Back up this way fellas!

Conflict avoidance at its finest.

What I’ve discovered over and over during my walks relates to energy. My energy transfers to them—and certainly the reverse is true. Some mornings we are simply at odds. Some mornings it seems like every single physical move the dogs make is counter to my own. I get wrapped up in leash—pulled into the brush—shoulder out of the socket—cajoling and cursing them along the way.

Dammit Mikey it’s a squirrel. You’ve seen, chased, and treed hundreds of them. Can we let this one go please?

And of course he cannot. He’s a dog. Squirrel is prey. I’m the idiot trying to convince him to be something he’s not.

Some mornings are effortless. Our energies are matched. We flow along the trail working in harmonious and joyful synch. My quads are strong. The dogs aren’t pulling but rather gliding up the hills alongside me.

As I write about walking my dogs—I realize I’m writing about relationships—about living every day—separately and together. My friend

Teyani Whitman

just wrote a beautiful piece yesterday on her Staying Together Newsletter—about the not me, but we mentality we must adopt in a partnership. My relationship with my wife Ann contains many such moments of energy—we’re working through one as we speak—about money. Old and well-entrenched energies come up in our bodies as we deal with challenging and/or conflicting topics. The good—and safe—and sensible—things we know in our heads can’t override the old—and painful—and fearful—things we feel in our bodies. Lots of practice will allow us to move through those old energies in our own ways—then come together with language in a new way that allows us to process the moment better together. Good theory. Takes work. I’ll let you know.

Back to the dogs. Right on God’s cue—there were two young coyotes prowling around the perimeter this morning—raising the dog’s energy to a pitched level. With all of that energy stirred up with all of mine—we were off on our walkies. Yeehaw!

Their adaptable and always forgiving natures bring them back the center. Mine needs more work.

The world is wonderful and I’m a spoiled dog! Yay me. Let’s go to the creek!