A Walk Does Not Need a Point

By Aria, occasional canine correspondent for HormoneSynergy® | The Aria Column

I had nothing to write about today, which was unusual given my interests in humans, food preparation, neighborhood dogs, and the confidence with which squirrels conduct themselves on our property. I tried to think of a subject for a while, but nothing seemed worth pursuing. Dr. Retzler put on her walking shoes and clipped the leash to my collar, apparently comfortable proceeding without an editorial plan.

I expected to find something along the way. Near the sidewalk was a stick with respectable proportions and no obvious structural problems. Since I live in a household where ordinary objects occasionally lead to discussions about health, I considered whether it might have something to do with adaptability or preserving grip strength with age. I picked it up and carried it while I thought about that.

We continued down the street, where the air smelled different beneath the trees and a delivery truck was stopping at the corner. Another dog had been through recently and left enough information to warrant a pause. From behind a fence, a smaller dog offered a lengthy account of our arrival. Dr. Retzler waited while I inspected the ground, then we moved on together.

I watched where she was walking and felt the leash move between us. There were sounds nearby and others farther down the street, and I wanted to know where they were coming from. By then I had mostly forgotten about finding a subject.

Humans often describe dogs as living in the present, sometimes with an admiration that suggests we have completed special training. From my perspective, there is usually enough happening to hold my interest. A bird lands, a garage door opens, or a leaf moves in a way that deserves a closer look. I am not making a particular effort to be mindful when I stop to investigate.

I have noticed that humans can pass through the same surroundings while occupied with something entirely elsewhere. Daniel, for example, can accompany me through several blocks while working on a webpage in his head. He may also be considering a patient question, organizing the week, and revisiting something somebody said to him in 1997. I generally wait until we reach a tree before interrupting.

He puts a great deal of thought into his work and the people he cares about. I would not want him to lose that, although I suspect he would enjoy some of our walks more if fewer unfinished projects came along. When he notices something I am looking at, or stops to speak to me, we seem to have a better time together.

Humans have plenty of reasons for walking. I hear about cardiovascular health, stress, metabolism, creativity, and step counts, all of which seem to deserve consideration. Sometimes, though, the effort to make good use of a walk appears to follow them out the door. They are still trying to solve a problem, develop an idea, or make themselves better at something while the neighborhood passes largely unnoticed.

I enjoy being outside with my people even when very little happens. We may take our usual route and encounter the same fence, the same parked cars, and the same dog who remains dissatisfied with our presence. There is still something to smell, and I like having someone at the other end of the leash.

I do not imagine Daniel could stop thinking simply because I suggested it. He would probably begin wondering whether he was doing it correctly. But he sometimes looks up from whatever has occupied him and notices where we are. We might watch a bird for a moment or stand beneath the trees while he scratches my neck. I am happy to wait with him when that happens.

His emails will be there when we get home, along with the problems he has not solved. I have never known the office to disappear during our absence. For the time we are outside, I would be pleased to have a little more of his attention, and I think he might be pleased to have it back himself.

Dr. Retzler and I eventually made our way home without anything particularly remarkable happening. I had inspected several trees, listened to the neighborhood dogs, and carried my stick farther than she probably expected. We had spent an agreeable stretch of the day together, and I was ready for some water.

Later, when I thought about what to write, I kept returning to the walk. I could remember the air beneath the trees, the sound of the truck stopping, and Dr. Retzler waiting beside me while I finished an investigation. None of it had seemed like material at the time. I had been enjoying myself too much to give that much thought.

The stick came home with us. I left it near the door, where Daniel will probably find it.

Editorial Transparency: Aria is a young Shepadoodle—a German Shepherd–Standard Poodle mix—and an occasional HormoneSynergy® editorial character. Her observations are written in her imagined voice with assistance from Daniel Soule, whose attention on walks remains a subject of ongoing canine interest.

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