Walking the Dog

Today, as I went out with Molly on the first of our daily walks, I started to wonder just how many walks we’d been on together. She is seven years old, and of those seven years, we have been walking for at least four of them.  We started walking when we discovered that exercise was the solution to her anxiety, and we have never stopped.

Seven years old! If she were to live to fifteen years, (we could reasonably expect a dog of her breed to live longer, but you never know,) then her life now would be almost half over. It is unbelievable that the years have past so quickly. I can still remember when she was a puppy, how I would get so mad at her for almost yanking my arm out of it’s socket when I tried to walk her. I remember when she learned to jump through a hoop, how we thought she must surely be the world’s smartest dog. And now she is seven years old, and we have been on hundreds of walks together, have covered mile upon mile over the years. It is incredible.

And yet she does not act old at all. She gallops barking to the door when the UPS truck comes around. She can often be seen tearing around the yard at an alarming speed. She never hesitates to chase a cat. No, she has plenty of life left in her.

It was Molly who taught me patient and forgiving. It was she who taught me that no walk is complete without a dog. It is because of her that I hope someday to become a dog trainer.

How can I ever thank her?

All she desires is another walk.

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