Walking with Beloved Dogs

I once calculated—modestly—how many miles I’d walked in a year. The results were startling. I’d racked up at least 1,200 miles per year, for years. For nearly all of those miles, I have been joined by dog companions.

Watching dogs engage with the world, hearing the gravelly crunch of shoe steps, feeling breath move in and out of my lungs. These things are essential. It is a primal comfort, purpose and belonging.

I’ve come to depend on walking like eating and sleeping and loving. It keeps me healthy, in shape. More importantly, it sets the stage for slaying inner demons, clearing clogged thoughts, and pumping attention toward neglected psychic chambers.

It’s a process, daily dog walks from home. Checking the skies and air temp, deciding what gear to wear, harnessing the canines, filling pockets with treats, poop bags, maybe a snot rag on cold days. Sitting on the back steps lacing up shoes or boots while furry legs scramble about in anticipation. Clipping on the leashes, opening the gate, holding on tight. Remaining loose and flexible in those first couple of blocks when pent up energies since our last roam come out chaotically in leaps, spurts, tangled leashes, and rambunctious desires to each go in a different direction.

As blocks spread into miles including stretches of off-leash sprints and spars, we settle into a rhythm. Inner reflections then take priority, wandering as they do. Time to remember who I am, what matters most, and what to leave on the sidewalk, trail, and road.

By the time home is again in site, our steps are steady. All the tangles have been worked out. The leashes and harnesses come off and are hung on their hooks. Shoes come off and everyone’s paws get wiped. Ready for re-entry.

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