WALKIES! OMG WALKIES!
- Ashley Montagu
The dog pack ran upstairs, leaving Hershey and me sitting on the porch to observe the grey sky. The murk was a harbinger of the inclement weather predicted for tomorrow. I looked at Hershey; he looked at me. We reached a silent understanding. I grabbed his leash and quickly slipped his martingale on. And then we went out the gate!
Hershey was excited. We were going for a drive! He sat beside the Bronco's passenger door, shivering in anticipation. I smiled. "Nope, no car ride today, brown hound".
His eyes widened and then he cautiously tugged me towards the alley. We haven't walked in years, not since our last walk on October 16th, 2020. My health and pain kept us home.
Now it didn't matter if it was chilly, or if my pants clashed with my jacket. I slapped on a knit cap to hide my horrible bed head. I know I looked dreadful. I laughed. At least nobody will want to talk with me.
I followed Hershey onto the asphalt. This was his walking path, our walking path, and that meant fresh adventure.
The damp kept familiar scents down; No rabbit trail to follow. It didn't matter to Hershey. He remembered everything on our path, though new things deserved intensive sniffing. There weren't many new things. A fence here, a flower bed there.
I suppose the weird part were the unkempt yards we walked by two years ago. These belonged to geriatric owners no longer strong enough to keep the weeds and brambles at bay. Grass was often shin high or more. But many of these yards were now reborn through youthful hands and determination. Did the owners die? Was the house sold?
(No, the houses were owned by the same people or family. My eternal house quest program sends me notices whenever property goes on the market. I should get a real estate agent license.)
Our own yards will get the better of us over time. We don't have kids or grandkids. We'll have to sell the place, and most everything within it, should we end up in one of those dreadful retirement homes. Or, if my hopes aren't dashed, we'll sell and move into a cozy single story home.
I pondered those thoughts as we marched along.
"Walkies" are also good for introspection. The world bustles around me but movement and pace insulate my mind. In turn, my mind is detached enough to ignore pain unless it tears a hole through my reflective state. Pain beats pondering.
Hershey brought that pondering to an abrupt stop. When he poops, he poops, and nothing else takes priority in his world. He chose someone's yard instead of the asphalt. I didn't have our walking kit with me... no gloves, no paper towels, no baggie. I had a small plastic bag holding his kibble treats. I dumped these into my pocket and picked the miss up."Merry Christmas," she replied.
There were some open trash cans further down. I deposited the mess there, and sighed when I noticed some had smeared onto my finger. I told myself that it was mud while I cleaned with dry crab grass.
The rest of that walk was awesome bonding time between the hound and me. We doubled back when I realized that the pain was getting to be a bit more than I could deal with. Our one block walk had turned into three; I miscalculated my tolerance level.
Pain ended our walks during that cold October in 2020. COVID meant that urgent back surgery needed to be postponed. I would be in the hospital a few days, and my doctor didn't want to subject me to possible illness or death. All the while, the damage spread until my sciatic nerve did nothing but scream. I couldn't stand without support. I couldn't walk without support. I used elbows on the kitchen counter, stooping over while making coffee or washing my cup or spoon. I was going to the ER weekly to beg for relief so I could wrap my mind around the pain.
The surgery finally happened. It's been 493 days since the procedure. The nerve damage is permanent. That pain caused weekly ER visits for too long a time. It has taken me a year to recover. I have a walker for distance.
I did not have a walker today. It was only supposed to me the end of the alley. And then, just one more block. C'mon Toni! You got this! And one more block. I spent so much time pushing myself forward than I did thinking about the journey back.
Three blocks away. I was tired. But now three blocks home? Oh shit.
I pushed through, using Hershey's brisk pace and energy to keep me in motion. This was our time and I didn't want to disappoint my good boy. I toyed with calling Jeff to come get us. Should I admit defeat? Should I tolerate pain having the upper hand?
No.
It wasn't until after we arrived home that I realized I had left my phone on the dining room table. No es buena, chica.
I pushed too far, too hard today. I sucked down Tylenol. If that doesn't work, I have stronger stuff I can take.
I'm sorry but I don't have walking adventure pictures. I vow to take some if we go out tomorrow. For now, please enjoy the mouse I'm working on for this blog. And yes, the lack of tail is intentional.
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