Just Walkin' the Dog 1

I haven't written for awhile - it's not for lack of trying; I intended to write the stuff I normally put on Facebook in the early morning - little stories about things that happen while I'm walking my dog in the dark.  You can see a lot in the dark if you open your eyes . . . :-)  Trouble is, I seem to clutch when I try to write here - like there are expectations I can't fulfill or something.  Anyway . . . so I've decided to do it backwards.  Write on FB and then post here; maybe edit a bit . . . we'll see how it goes.
*~*~*~*~
After the storms last night (which beat the heck out of my lovely irises, by the way), the air felt refreshingly cool as we stepped out on our walk this morning.  But the rain also washed away all of the intriguing scents that normally distract Bud for a few seconds and allow me to catch my breath before forging on to the next stinky tree or bush.  So we reached Poop Nirvana in record time only to find - oh dear me! - it rained there, too!  Bud raced back and forth between the trees, searching futilely for any elusive evidential remains of Puppies Past.

Up and down the pavement I paced as he became more and more frustrated.  We might be there still, trudging back and forth, but salvation came in the form of a lovely brindled boxer trotting politely behind her owner's heels across the street.  I say 'her' because Bud stopped in his tracks, utterly forgetting his current mission, and stood at smitten attention until she was out of sight (he always loses his cool around the ladies).

As she rounded the next corner, he almost yanked my shoulder out of its socket, tugging me across the street to the spot where she had delicately squatted, mailing him a brief whiff of fragrance, clear and pure, winged on the cool breeze that ruffled his fur. . .

<sigh>  I do not understand my dog - I likely never will.  Every other dog in the world is content to poop in their own backyard.  Bud, on the other hand, thinks he has to travel to Oz to find his heart's desire.  I wish he'd learn that there's no place like home . . .