Strolling Down Corgi Lane

Walks are usually good things for me. I might pray, read, (yes, I've mastered the art of staying on the sidewalk while focusing on a novel!) or brainstorm my latest plot. (Talking it over to myself helps me sort out the insane from the sensible ideas. Besides, with all those crazy hands-free gadgets nowadays, my neighbors think I'm talking on a Bluetooth.)

The walk I took this afternoon may have changed that opinion.

Noticing my two dogs splayed over the kitchen tiles, I thought I'd include them in my escapades. What could be the harm? They're small -- corgi and chihuahua mix -- and good-tempered. They could use some exercise. Besides, I've taken them on lots of walks before.

But wait, summer lingers, the weather is still kind of warm. Normally I take them one at a time, since letting them both outside is akin to feeding them twenty espressos. But I really don't want to walk my usual route twice, and lately both have been really obedient on their walks. Oh! I'll take them at the same time!

Premonition lurks around the corner. Unfortunately I'm blind to it.

I grab my umbrella for sun protection (my bottle of sunscreen is lost) and slip on the dog's leashes. Sweet, innocent looking Haddie and Caleb drag my across the front yard before I can say "mush". Word of note to potential dog buyers: the strength of big dogs is nothing compared to the sheer will power of tiny chihuahuas.

They barrel down the street, me jerking along at a choppy gait. All thoughts of how peaceful and relaxing this walk will be disappear as my frayed nerves explode. I can only yank fruitlessly on the leashes twined around my wrist and pray that my circulation doesn't cut off soon.

At the corner Haddie (the leader of their "pack") slows enough for me to catch my breath. Growling, I tug hard at her leash, pulling her closer. I'm muttering to myself about the idiocy of bringing both dogs for this walk and how I'll never, ever, ever consider taking these creatures with me again. The man standing at the corner gives me a strange look.

We turn down the street and continue this trek. My nerves are bristled out four inches from my skin, my shoulders hunch beneath the umbrella. A woman coos over the dogs as we pass. "Oh, look, they're hot."

Um, no. Their heavy panting results from the eternal tugging on their lines. If I didn't stop every ten minutes they'd probably choke themselves.

Not even halfway through the walk I turn around and steer back home. The "sweet innocents" trot obediently along now, tongues flapping. They collapse on the floor the second we enter the house.

Cute.

I think I'll stick to praying and reading while I walk. Bringing the dogs is just too difficult.