Dog therapy

The whining was almost unbearable, and it was mostly coming from me. I had to take Root Beer for a walk. I had to get away from the noise in the house and try to escape the noise in my head. My internal critic was in overdrive and it was in cahoots with my family. Everybody was after me to do more faster and with efficiency. The tension was building. I was scared of how long I was going to scream.
I clipped on the leash. I grabbed my mitts and a couple of the all-purpose, who-would-have-guessed-the-purpose, Safeway grocery bags, and left the building. I checked out. I said "See-ya!" And I was glad to be gone.
I didn't know where I was going.
I let Root Beer lead. We stopped at a few corners and sniffed some neighbours' drives. We checked out the kids' old elementary school and deposited one of the Safeway bags in the receptacle there. We kept going.
We turned a corner that took us down the road toward the Red River. My nose started to get cold. We walked along the drive that gives a nod to royalty without being specific. We headed to the dog park.
The murmuring messenger started having less to say. We had been walking for about 30 minutes. We made it to King's Park and I let Root Beer off her leash. Her antics in the snow were downright humorous. She stalked pine cones, sticks of strange dimensions and possibly a rabbit or squirrel, not sure which. Her little puppy growl made me laugh especially when the big dogs came barking. It was then that Root Beer weaved her body against my legs and pleaded with her eyes to be picked up. She's getting older but she's not ready for those playmates - yet.
We took the turn home. I listened to the foolish birds who either never left Manitoba's cold climes or returned too soon. They sounded like they were having fun. Many chirps and peeps and other bird-like sounds too hard to describe. I kept walking.
I looked at the houses and once again thought of how success can be defined. Does it mean a big house with two cars and a boat parked in the drive? Maybe one day that was what I believed, not anymore. Now I know that delicious-looking three-storey house with the fancy Beemer and covered boat, takes at least three hours to clean once a day. I know the taxes those home owners pay would be more than the amount one inner-city family has to pay rent, buy groceries and catch a show. I walk away.
I head towards home. I walk the dog. I stop worrying about the next 10 items on my to-do list or whether my kids have enough spending money. I don't worry about lost cell phones or keys or regrets. I just walk.