The hound must be walked, preferably once a day.
And I’m not sure whether I’m impressed or disappointed that she keeps her land-mines for her own territory. But it is her way.
As the designated walker on our rounds, I’m constantly scanning and studying the environment with my eyes and ears. Not doggo. Nose in the dirt, sniffing.
It amuses me. In advance of our path sometimes I’ve seen cats and squirrels that would be of interest, but doggo’s visual reconnaissance extends as far as just in front of her nose.
Reading up on it helps to understand the dog’s perspective on things:
Compared to our olfactory senses there’s an insane amount of information available to this snout.
During the walk yestersday morning, I’m thinking about the 2020 election and the hyperventilating going on Stateside and I wonder about how a dog may see the whole thing: sniffing the respective rear end of each candidate and deciding on which candidate smells more pungent.
One bark: Trump!
Two barks: Biden!!
The article says we are ‘splendidly stinky’ to our dog.
In all seriousness though, sometimes doggo settles down around what seems to me to be a random patch of sidewalk and sniffs around like she never wants to leave.
It evokes for me the title of the poem ‘The hound of heaven’ by Francis Thompson. He flees from God, but God follows ‘with unhurrying chase and unperturbed pace’.
We can no sooner hide from God than Dr Richard Kimble can hide from US Marshall Samuel Gerard. Or elude our Heavenly Father.
And that for me is a comforting thing.