This morning’s walk with Tux and Grace was so uneventful that Tux didn’t know what to do with himself. There was nary a duck, a bunny, or even another dog to be seen. There was nothing to stalk. No dog to protect his sister from. Not even a human to smooze. What was a guy to do?
Tux checked out all his usual places - the underbrush where he had vanquished a bunny the day before, the path leading into the park where he’d seen the obese black dog two days earlier. Alas, there was no bunny and no black dog.
As we rounded the final curve before heading home, there were no Mallards. Then he saw something, though, because he went into stalker mode - pulling up his left front paw in a beautifully executed hunter’s pose, then he began placing one paw slowly in front of the other, he wanted no fast moves that would startle his quarry into flight. We three, Tux, Grace, and I, were sneaking up on something. After each step, he’d pause, slowly raise his front paw, pause, take another step. Repeat. The classic hunting dog’s recipe.
Unfortunately for Tux, the effect of his magnificence was lost on the two elderly people who were headed our way and who he’d been stalking. As they neared, the man kept his distance, as well he should, in the presence of an Alpha male like Tux. The woman, on the other hand, stopped in front of Tux and bent down to extend her hand, palm down, to him. Tux took a cautious sniff of the woman’s hand. He lost interest when his sniff revealed that these people didn’t even own a dog. The woman cooed, “What a cute dog! How old is he?” When I told her Tux was 11, she replied, “My goodness, that’s really old for a dog, isn’t it?”
Grace snickered, I swear.
Tux, in an effort to keep his dignity in tact, muttered, “Old, smold. I’m the one with all my teeth and no gray hairs.” He turned his back on the woman and busied himself with inspecting the moss growing nearby.
I wished the couple a good day, and we continued on our way. Tux preferring to forget that the woman existed. He was in search of something, anything, of interest. There was nothing this morning. Even the Westies, normally in their yard as we pass by, were no where to be seen.
What a boring walk, Tux pronounced as we headed home.
Not every walk is interesting according to Tux. We humans need to learn that lesson as well. Not every day of our lives will be filled with interesting people and/or events. We need to appreciate the “boring” days as much as we do the exciting ones. We need to learn how to entertain ourselves when he have one of those boring days when nothing of interest is supposedly happening.