Strolling your furry friend is not merely a routine exercise. Every escapade could turn into an engaging goose chase: be it for an evasive bag, an unintentional test of every nearby puddle, or a sacred duty to sniff out every lamppost around. In this dynamic team, the human is the captain, yet the script of the walk is authored by the four-legged friend.
Picture this: standing on the sidewalk, keys in one hand, leash in the other. And then you realize—something feels off. After pondering the situation for all of five minutes, it finally dawns. You’ve got the leash but not the dog! A hilarious upside of skipping morning coffee, right? Note to self, always keep a stock of coffee or your poor pooch might not survive another “walk” like this.
Now, let’s talk about bath etiquette—or, more precisely, the lack thereof in my dog. Picture a furball getting incredibly offended when she’s bathed or when someone washes her feet after a stroll. Recently, following a snowfall that soon began to melt, everything outside was a sloppy mess. We trod through it for half an hour, and upon return, I cheerily suggested, “Let’s clean your feet.”
Well, tagging the audacity, the dog burrowed under the pouffe in the corridor, feigning to clean herself. As if to say: “How about now? Or do you fancy some more mat-polishing?” Standing there, watching this spectacle, I felt guilty. So, we proceeded with our post-walk cleaning but excluding the “rag” stage.
“Snow and slobber: my dog’s two greatest enthusiasms.”
If we are giving out titles, mine’s got to be the world’s clumsiest canine. Let me paint you a picture. One day, while we were out for our usual walk, he spotted a lady dog. His eyes lit up, his ears sprang up, and in his excitement, he managed to entangle his legs in the leash and eat the dirt. The lady dog merely snorted in dismissal, leaving my poor pup heartbroken. A treat was the only cure for his ensuing mood blues. Dogs, after all, are akin to us humans.
Every story has a character that sticks out. In my case—my 6-month-old Rottweiler Ricky. Whenever we head to the countryside, he called shotgun—in other words, the passenger seat. I remember one such episode when I was casually chatting with a neighbor when suddenly Ricky disappeared. I frantically started looking for him when I heard a loud noise from the parking lot.
What do I see when I rush there? Just my imposing Ricky, sitting proudly on the passenger seat of someone’s car, tongue out, tail wagging, signaling, “Well, I’m ready, let’s go.” You see, he confused their car with mine and I had to act the gentleman and apologize for my canine’s mix-up. Fortunately, the owner was not lacking humor and sighed, “Oh, well, thank God. I thought I would have to buy a new car, considering the size of your ‘little’ guy.”
Walking your dog in the park often turns into an experience you didn’t sign up for. The other day, I let my dog run free and guess who decides to join in? A raven! My dog tried to reach the feathered creature with leaps while the raven circled above him or just landed nearby. This went on for a solid 40 minutes!
At first, I thought the raven was out to exhaust my poor mutt, but as time went by, I realized they were just playing. As we started back home, our new friend followed us back. And who do you think is sharing my flat with me now? A certain dog and, of course, a raven.
“Today’s walk ended with my dog rescuing a baby bird!”
Walking a pint-sized furry friend on a leash can be quite an adventure when a gigantic dog approaches. This big dog came bounding toward us, growling and joyfully bouncing around. All the while, the clueless owners stood a few feet away, screaming their lungs out at him. I stooped to pacify my trembling pet saying, “Are you scared, little one, poor thing?”
Suddenly, this massive snout—belonging to the puppy-playful mammoth from earlier—decided to join our conversation. His eyes were wide, ears drooping, drool flowing, knees trembling, and his tail was ruining the pavement with nervous sweeps. In that moment, I realized I was dealing with an oversized anxious child. Definitely had to pet him too.
In the past six months, I’ve been lending my time to the local dog shelter. I’ve found immense joy walking the dogs there—they’re each an individual with their own quirks. With time, I developed an understanding and an approach for every one of them. Even those that were once afraid of human touch were soon excited for their walks with me.
A week back, they offered me a job at the shelter, which I was more than happy to accept as I
