Being Walked

Sam likes walks. He likes walks a lot.

Cats don’t get walks. They sit around a lot and then go blasting around the house in the middle of the night. So dog walking as a firsthand concept is fairly new for me; before I adopted the cats a few years back, I’d never had pets. So Sam – all 120 lbs of him – is my first hard experience in regular day-to-day dog caretaking.

Most of it is actually easier than cats. Food and water and ear scratches, and the rest of it is energy management. Sam gets wound up, and when a dog his size gets charged to full, he tends to be the center of attention. So lately I’ve been doing a lot of preemptive walking, just to keep his battery from overcranking.

We’ve got the route mapped out. It’s about two miles around the neighborhood, up and down a couple hills, through a park and past Scott Peterson’s house and past the crazy old lady who runs out of her house screaming “cat sanctuary” whenever we walk by, trekking down Hit-and-Run Avenue and finally turning the corner back towards Santa Ana. It’s a nice hike, but lately I’ve been noticing that our energy management plan is backfiring.

We failed to consider that all the exercise might make Sam a fitter dog.

Kristi’s noticed that his waist is returning. So has his stamina. Usually Sam starts knocking out about halfway through the walk; yesterday he didn’t tire out at all. Instead he virtually dragged me along behind him for two miles. By the time we got back home, I was soaked in sweat and was tired and my feet hurt and Sam was looking to me and Kristi with a look that said, “So when we doing the REAL workout??”

So who knows, maybe Sam will take me for a walk again this afternoon. Lord knows I could use the exercise.