My husband usually walks the dogs with me, or I walk them one at a time on a four block walk. It's great exercise for all of us. Today, however, my husband worked a double shift and I was tired, so I walked Buddy and Baby, the two males, together, and Holly a bit later with Chewy wrapped up in my jacket.
Chewy always walks in my jacket. If I put him on a leash he throws himself to the ground and pretends to be choking to death, then instantly recovers when a car drives by and tries to bite its tires. Chewy will never be a "walking" dog. He will spend his 22-year-average-life-span zipped up in my jacket. Sigh.
The following story in pictures explains what happens when I try to walk the two males, Buddy and Baby, together. I suspect it also explains why Baby is a bit on the chubby side. I stop to take a picture every few feet, literally. Their conversation explains why I stop to take a picture every two feet--it's the rabbit.
Chewy trying to climb out of my jacket.
Look at his eyes--he hears one of those evil cars.
Look at his eyes--he hears one of those evil cars.
This is why I keep my jacket zipped.
Chewy always walks in my jacket. If I put him on a leash he throws himself to the ground and pretends to be choking to death, then instantly recovers when a car drives by and tries to bite its tires. Chewy will never be a "walking" dog. He will spend his 22-year-average-life-span zipped up in my jacket. Sigh.
The following story in pictures explains what happens when I try to walk the two males, Buddy and Baby, together. I suspect it also explains why Baby is a bit on the chubby side. I stop to take a picture every few feet, literally. Their conversation explains why I stop to take a picture every two feet--it's the rabbit.
Baby: "I think I smell something in this shrub. It could be a rabbit."
Buddy: "I smell it too, Dude. Smells like rabbit."
Baby: "The smell moved. I think the rabbit moved."
Buddy: "I think we should move. If the rabbit is here, though, we'll miss it."
Baby: "Mom is tugging on our leashes, but if we move, we might miss the rabbit. Gag. Choke."
Buddy: "I hear you, Dude. Don't move.
Let's see how long we can make her wait. Cough. Gag."
Baby: "I think maybe the rabbit was here."
Buddy: "Okay, Dude, I'll go with you on this one,
but you do realize we're standing in the street now, right?"
Baby: "Hey, I lived in the desert. I know rabbit when I smell rabbit. I smell rabbit."
Buddy: "I smell sidewalk."
Baby: "Maybe the rabbit ran beneath the landscape log."
Buddy (mumbling, a bit too loud): "Dude, you're embarrassing yourself. There is no rabbit."
Buddy: "Wait! Dude! I think the rabbit ran in front of our house!"
Baby: "I don't smell a thing. We missed the rabbit. It was under the landscaping log.
Now you're just embarrassing yourself. I refuse to look."
And this is why my dogs are still chubby in spite of the fact that I walk them four blocks, every day, rain, snow, or sunshine--it's the rabbit. It's always the rabbit.
P.S. The rabbit lives beneath the shrub on the side of the house. After listening to my two "hunting dogs" this afternoon, I think she's safe.
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