Weather or not we go outside

If, in dog years, a one-year-old puppy is actually seven years human, than Root Beer is a toddler. I know because Luke and I tried to take Root Beer for a walk.
Our excursion team went to Pet Value before the big event and purchased a collar, leash and $80 worth of toys.
On our way home, Luke kept chattering about our walk. We were going to go for miles.
I said, "No, Root Beer is a baby dog and puppies don't walk for miles."
I figured if we reached the end of the block, we would have achieved something similar to the Mount Everest expediation.
The moment arrived. Luke gently placed Root Beer's collar around her neck, he clipped her leash to the collar and out the door we went.
Root Beer stopped.
Like a stubborn two-year-old refusing to go to bed, Root Beer sat on the step. Luke looked at me.
"She won't come."
I tried gently tugging on the leash and ecouraged Root Beer with treats. Still nothing, and the January wind whistled.
"I want to go inside," Luke said.
Me too, I thought, but then I remembered every battle won and lost with my children.
"Hold on, Luke," I said. "I have an idea."
I bent down, lifted the puppy and placed her in Luke's arms.
She snuggled in, grateful for the warmth and the "win."
I said nothing, I just led our pack down the street. We travelled about 15 houses. I stopped.
"Put her down."
Luke looked at me, puzzled, but placed his puppy on the road.
"Come on Root Beer," I said, running back towards home and warmth and familiar scents, "let's go home."
How that puppy moved. For a few seconds, Luke, in his sturdy winter boots, had trouble keeping up.
We reached the front door.
"Root Beer, sit."
Root Beer sat.
I waited for a count of 10.
"Okay, let's go inside."
When my boys were two, I taught them manners. They, in turn, taught me how to think creatively.
With Root Beer, the lessons begin again.