Relative Something

Relative to the news and analysis of my ongoing experiences being chronicled here, I can report from my thoroughly biased perspective that we are emerging this morning from the day-long soaking rain with fresh anticipation for Cyndie’s return late tonight.

One aspect of caring for non-speaking others that I deeply dread is my inability to interpret their expressions of needs or wants. I can’t say that Cyndie deals with these situations any less stressfully than me, but when she is taking them on, I am relieved of sole responsibility.

I’m pretty sure I misread Asher’s whiny pleading last night. I had made the mistake of getting too close to the road with Asher roaming off-leash and he suddenly bolted for a house on the other side of the road to harass their dog while entirely ignoring my attempts to command his obedience.

He was thrilled over being able to lap up whatever was in bowls on their front steps (cat food?) and manically sniff every nook and cranny around their property, peeing on only half of them. Their little barking Bichon Frise-like breed dog had retreated to their back deck. Luckily, Asher was too curious to be confrontational and merely invaded its personal space when conducting a full inspection of their deck.

Our wonderfully sweet octogenarian neighbor, Eileen, was bold enough to grab Asher’s collar when he finally trotted up to meet her. I was busy panicking that he was going to jump on her and knock her over. Since I hadn’t brought a leash along on this walk, I tried walking him by the collar close enough to our property before letting go so I could run with him back to the safe confines of our property.

Asher made a U-turn and went right back to their front door. Eileen stepped inside to grab a leash to loan me so I could get him home.

Inside our house, Asher whined and paced from door to door, wanting to get back outside. I assumed he wanted to go right back over to where that little dog that barks all the time lives.

All this was happening in soaking rain. I can’t complain about the long, slow precipitation. It was perfect for our recently planted grass, but it made it complicated to step outside with the dog. Asher persisted for so long that I decided I needed to put on his vest with a leash, get myself geared up for battle against the elements, and take him for a walk.

He didn’t poop right away. He made me walk several circles through the thickest woods before he finally relieved himself of what looked like uncomfortably loose excrement.

No wonder he was whining.

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