To Walk or Not to Walk

"Movement is a medicine for creating change in a person's physical, emotional and mental states." 
CarolWelch

Maizey is pretty quiet during the day. Unless the a dog walker goes by or the mailman knocks on the door, she doesn't do much barking. But come 8:30 when the dishes are done and all I want to do is put my feet up and relax, Maizey, by some internal clock, decides it is time to bark.

"She's trying to tell you something," says John, who claims to be able to read her body language and facial expressions. He gives me no clue as to what she wants ... to pee? a snack? to play? It all sounds the same to me. L.O.U.D. Tonight when she starts I blame it on the super, blue, wolf moon shining so bright in the night sky. 

"She wants a walk," John says as he stokes the fire. The fire I'd much prefer to sit next to than go out into the coldest night of the season.

A walk? Isn't she still on restriction?

Following a limping spell, we tried to keep her quiet.  We've learned, however, it's not easy to keep a big dog down, even if she has cancer. Unlike me, she can only take so much lying around in front of a fire, being catered to. She probably does need some controlled exercise, as opposed to body slamming her brother.  Tonight, with temperatures in the 20's, gimpy leg or not, Maizey demands fresh air and exercise.

What Maizey wants, Maizey gets. Partly because she's sick, partly because she's the most spoiled dog in the universe.  Johnny and I dig through our closets for hats, gloves and scarves. Buddy dons Maizey's pink fleece because we don't want to jostle her shoulder into it. He's a little embarrassed to look like such a girly boy, but, truth be told, Buddy will do or wear just about anything if it means going for a walk. The only piece of warm clothing left for Maizey is a piece of fleece along the lines of an"infinity scarf." Not sure at first if she likes it, a blast of cold air convinces her it'll be okay. 

In all honesty it took us longer to get dressed than it did to walk. There's a fine line between stretching stiff legs and irritating a shoulder peppered with osteosarcoma. In the words of Goldilocks, a walk to the pond and back was 'just right."

Back home the fire crackles. I'm wrapped in my blanket. Maizey is sound asleep. The kind of sleep where I have to put my hand on her chest to make sure she's still breathing.

The fact that when Maizey walks I walk is not lost on me. That I feel better after a walk, even a short walk.  I wonder if Maizey's hounding barking could be her way of taking care of me like I take care of her. Could the urgency of her barking be because she wants to make sure I know how to listen for owl calls, check the pond for turtles and frogs, follow the scent of a fox, enjoy the night air, decide which pile of leaves needs to be peed on?  Could she know there's not much time left and she wants to make sure I've learned to appreciate a good walk the way she does? Or does she bark because that's how dogs say, "Come on Grammy, there's a big full moon outside. Let's go look at it."

I have to admit it was a nice walk.