Sorry

It started as a beautiful day. Luke, Root Beer and I went for a long walk down the Trans Canada trail. Our first stop was the gas station along the way. With $20 and the knowledge that we had at least three miles more to go before we would stop, I bought two ice cream sandwiches.
Luke was waiting with Root Beer outside the gas station.
An older man came out of the store.
I was unwrapping the treats.
He pointed to his crotch.
No, it's not that kind of post.
He pointed to his crotch and said: "Your dog. Your dog."
I looked at his pants and repeated what most people would see when they see a paw print on a piece of pant.
"Sorry."
"Sorry," he repeats in disbelief, and walks away.
Not sure what he was expecting - was I supposed to offer a dry cleaning ticket?
It's spring. There is mud outside. Our dog is obviously a puppy - and why was he so close to Luke and the dog that Root Beer could jump up?
I stand beside Luke and the puppy waiting for something to happen. The man starts complaining to his wife.
Gesticulating - and repeating "Sorry."
Luke looks at me with tears in his eyes.
"Don't worry about it," I said.
We continued our long walk. We saw a few squirrels and Root Beer barked at a few strangers.
When we made it home we had successfully survived a spring stroll and a grumpy beige-panted pain in the *ss.
And the day remained sunny and warm.

Top of the class

Diva, Oliver and Holly - they're Root Beer's new friends. She met them at puppy training. Oliver is a brown pug, and he's all muscle and "he" man attitude. Diva is a golden retriever and Holly is a long-haired something. They're all adorable and they're all under six months old.
Luke is the youngest "trainer" in the class and Root Beer is the wiggliest. She piddled on the floor the first day and cowered behind us when the other dogs came calling. On our second session, Root Beer decided she would chase the other dogs. However, when the pups all turned on her, she scooted back. Our wiggly dog isn't the bravest dog.
Diva pooped and I laughed. I was so worried about Root Beer "letting loose" and then Diva did it. I just had to laugh.
"Come." "Off." "Sit." "Stay." We have learned a lot of commands. Root Beer has mastered sit and she's doing okay with stay but she doesn't like off and because she's so independent, come doesn't work at all.
Her adventures aren't limited to puppy classes. She's torn through listerine packages, chewed luggage tags, consumed something that turned into a lot of fibre - as in a huge ball of string came out of her backside. We're getting used to putting things up or taking things away.
We're getting used to the licks and nibbles, the smell and the innocence. We're getting used to our furry family member and we're loving her.

Sunday morning reflections

According to "Waist Management" the book written about/for YOU, every individual should maintain 30 minutes of walking a day. These folks aren't counting the steps I take from the couch to the fridge, to the car, to the door and back again. "They" insist that these 30 minutes should be taken consecutively, if possible.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but for the past year, 30 minutes of consecutive minutes only occurred while I slept, and even then, my dreams didn't take me far enough away. To say I was stressed is to say Yogi Bear likes picnic baskets. Once upon a time, Yogi Bear was funny and I cared about his quest for the picnic basket but I don't any longer. I'm tired of the routine. I'm tired of his inability to get along with the Ranger and I want to know why Boo Boo hasn't smacked him upside the head.
Since Root Beer joined us, though, 30 minutes and more, a day, have been dedicated to walking.
These five, 10, 30 and 60 minute excursions are giving me the time I need to "walk off" whatever idiocy that can't be sorted out by a cold beer and an episode of Corner Gas.
Yet it isn't just me benefiting from walking the dog. Luke's doctor was pretty direct when he told Luke and me that Luke had to get more exercise.
Now, after Root Beer, and because of some maybe-not-long-enough long distance walking, Luke may not be getting the full 30 minutes - he somehow seems reluctant to wake-up at 6 a.m. to hit the trails. He is still getting 20 minutes, minimum. And these are paying off with a happier kid and a serene and calm mother (okay, that laugh is for you that really know me).
I can't say everything about having a dog has been easy, but I no longer relate my life to a Hanna Barba cartoon. I'm okay with Yogi Bear. He can have his picnic basket, and eat it through, too.
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Stay tuned for the next posting where we will explore the dangers of Listerine, the reasons why dogs like stuffed animals, when not to call the vet and much, much more.