Rina – on walking.

They think I’m not listening, but I hear every word.

First they say, “She’s gorgeous,” or “Isn’t she lovely?” or the like.

Of course they’re right and I could not disagree. Then they continue with, “How old is she?” as if it won’t offend me.

“Twelve,” He replies

“Months?” they ask.

“No, twelve years,” he answers proudly.

He has every right to gloat. I do look fantastic for my age.

Then the sarcasm starts. You see, he’s carrying me because we are walking beside a busy road and he thinks I have no road sense. He’s probably right but I do enjoy being carried too. They say, “Has she got legs? I never see her walking,” and they laugh at their own silly joke. He smiles too, even though he’s heard that quip a hundred times before. I’m not laughing, I just want to spit. I’ve got four very good legs and they’re itching to walk and this chat is holding us up.

We eventually escape, walk off the road onto a side track and he puts me down and we’re away. I like to walk, run, explore and play, to feel the freedom. He paces it out and I either lead or follow depending on my mood and distractions. He stops and sniffs flowers and incense. I prefer the scent of wet grass, damp earth and the calling cards left by other dogs. Each to their own. At times distractions are immense, especially if I stop for a poo, and I lag behind. He is patient and waits for me to catch up. He calls my name and claps his hands to help me find him. He knows my eyes are not as good as when I was younger. If I am a bit slow, he retraces his steps until he gets to me. He’s good like that.

As we walk, we both keep an eye out for other dogs. Whenever we see one, I stop and look up at him and we decide what to do. If they’re small, he lets me chat and sniff, but a little bit of this is usually enough. Small dogs are mainly puppies, and they are too playful for my likes. If the dogs are big, he bends down, picks me up and we keep on walking. I don’t mind if he forgets to put me down again. From his arms, I get to see the tops of bushes and best of all, I can enjoy his smell, that endorphin filled sweaty man-smell that I so like and that he showers off as soon as we get home. And as I rest my head on his chest, nostrils filled with his stink, my ear listens to his beating heart. It pumps much faster when he walks than when we are resting on the bed at home.

I love our walks. Every time he stands up from his desk, I raise my head from my cushion and look for hints that we are going out. If he grabs a hat or puts on his sandals, then I know and am at his side ready to escort him. I’m good like that. He takes me walking a couple of times a day.

So now, let me answer that leg question.

“Yes, I have four perfectly good legs and they love to walk, run, chase and leap. If you see him carrying me, it is because he is needy and protective, but remember, I am always ready to walk when he allows my feet to touch the ground.”