Tuesday, December 6, 2011

It's a cold, crappy world

This evening, miserable as it was outside, the dogs needed a walk. I needed a walk. Desmond needed to be exposed to the elements. We'd all been shut in the house and isolated from the world for too many consecutive hours.

I am a responsible dog-walker. When I walk my dogs I bring along plastic bags. I pick up their poop, stinky, slimy as it may be. But in the 38-degree, dimming day, pushing the stroller with one hand, steering the dogs with my other hand, plastic bags crumpled in the pocket of my swollen jacket, after the dogs stopped to do their thing, I looked around and walked away like a teenaged shoplifter with a brand new lipstick tube clasped in my hand. My heart didn't even speed up as I pushed the stroller off and steered the dogs toward home. It's like I was a dog-shit-leaving pro.

It had been enough effort getting myself out of pajama pants and into jeans, socks, sneakers, a sweater, a down jacket, then bundling Desmond in socks, pants over his onesie, more pants over those pants, booties over his socks, fuzzy hooded bear coat, setting him into the car seat, setting the car seat into the stroller, shoving a blanket over him, then getting leashes onto the dogs and those empty plastic bags into my pocket. Out in the winter cold, no hands easy to free, it felt like performing that one last responsible act would be impossible. Sorry neighbors.


  1. Go back after they've had a chance to chill. It'll be like picking up pebbles.