Everytime I go to the front door, Phoebe follows. When I go out to get the paper or to the mailbox, she peers out the front window. It’s obvious she wants to walk, so I’ve started taking her. She does well, but usually about a quarter of a mile from the house in any direction, she just stops. I suppose her fear takes over at that point and then she becomes Frozen Dog, forcing me to coax her along one step at a time until we get back to the house, usually in twice the amount of time (if we’re lucky) it took to get to the turnaround point.
Then the next time I go to the front door, she wants to go for another walk.
I’ve gotten in the habit of walking her to the mailbox or to the end of the driveway to get the paper, but since it’s only fifty feet or so, it seems mean, though I don’t think she minds. It’s clear this dog has a sense of adventure, but for now, I think she only wants short adentures where she can’t get in over her head as she does when we get a quarter mile from the house.
Car rides are also proving to be great fun, and when we get out of the car she’s fine until we’ve reached just about the point where it’s time to go back. It reminds me of Tigger taking Roo to the top of the tree and then not knowing how to get back down. Tiggers don’t climb down. Phoebes don’t walk back to where they started.
Still, we’ve progressed a long way from the first walk when I had to carry her (all sixty pounds) nearly a quarter mile back to our driveway after a dry leaf skittering across the sidewalk had induced temporary paralysis of the legs.
Maybe Daphne is the smart one; she runs and hides when I get the leashes out.
James Brush is a teacher and writer who lives in Austin, TX. He tries to get outside as much as possible.
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