Walk the Dog

I walk my dog every chance I get. He's the type of dog who lounges at the hallways of my office building and does a great job imitating a carpet or a stuffed toy. Being a male golden retriever, its easy for him to intimidate people who are less knowledgeable of dog breeds. On the flip side, it's also easy for him to effortlessly impress folks who know how retrievers behave and interact.

When I was still single, his puppy good looks were a chick magnet. He'd evoke aawwws and aahhs, and how-cute-naman-your-dog-is remarks. Upon hearing those comments, I'd make eye contact with the ladies, smile pogi, and make my move...in my dreams. Good thing, I never scored with that method. If my dog could talk, he'd rat me out, shake his head and tell me how pathetic I am. If he could talk now, he might tell my wife how ridiculous my game plan was.

Anyway, every time I walk my dog Adam, he walks with a sense of purpose and heightened awareness. He barks at other dogs and people in greeting while vigorously wagging his tail, chews grass from the vacant lots, smells dried poop from other mutts and felines both friend and foe. He sniffs the neighbors cooking from their kitchen to the road. Aside from declogging his colon, his purpose is to observe, experiment, and participate. While I may not find it pleasurable to bark, chew foliage, chase wet tennis balls and smell white turd and other dogs' genitalia, I've a lot to learn from Adam's daily wonderment. I don't walk my dog...my dog walks me.

I smell my neighbor's adobo. I bet Adam is savoring it now.