Follow me where I go

Sometimes my Person lets me run free, like a wild thing. And I am a wild thing when I run free. I tear through ravines, across sandy beaches, into the woods. I have even run right up a tree trunk that was reclining a bit.

My nose is even faster than my legs and I sniff and snort as I run, skimming over fallen logs, diving into bushes, tongue and ears flapping, hot on the shifting trails of creatures with stinky feet. When I catch the scent of something I might like to hunt I bark and yelp as loudly as I can. I create quite a commotion.

But most of the time when we set off on an adventure, my Person hooks herself up to me with a leash. One end attaches to my handsome red collar and the other is clutched in her hand. And I lead her about. I think she is prone to getting lost and needs me to find the way for her. She certainly lacks my discerning nose and couldn't sniff her way home if her life depended on it. So she must follow me, attached one to another like mittens to an idiot string. She calls this "Taking the dog for a walk," but we all know what the real story is.

I might have more fun on my walks if I weren't lumbered with a great clumsy and slow Person. But sometimes it is nice to have someone along to share interesting experiences. Today, for instance, I discovered a red fox curled in a neat circle on a pile of fallen yellow leaves, dozing in the late afternoon sunlight that peaked through the trees. And I was happy to have my Person along to share this with. Of course I would have been happier if she had unhooked the leash so I could chase the fox around. But instead we watched a bit and I whined my regrets and we left the fox in peace.

And perhaps because I didn't chase the fox it won't be scared of fierce Red Dogs and the next time I take my Person on a walk we might have a fox sighting to share again.