I haven't been posting much lately because of the kitchen remodel; which is still going on with no end in sight until sometime in June--I hope. That is, if I can make up my mind about the floor, and if the tile guy's schedule permits, if the counter-top guy can match my cabinet's stain to the trim; and if Jupiter aligns with Mars...then just maybe we'll be done in June. Ah well, life goes on.
So this week I had a 'brilliant' idea for exercising Baron. Bicycling! When I told my husband about my plan he looked skeptical.
"What if he darts after something?"
"I've got that covered," I replied smartly. "I'll hold the leash loosely under my palm. If he darts...I'll just let go."
This was exciting. If my plan worked, Baron would get twice as much exercise as he did when we walked--and in half the time. We set out bright and early the next morning. I was in a hurry to get going so I slapped my helmet on my head and took off-- wobbling cautiously down the driveway with Baron in tow. Soon we were cruising around the 'hood' at a cautiously optimistic pace. Baron was loping along at my side like a champ. This was going pretty well. I envisioned myself and Baron whizzing over hill and dale--wind in our face...a woman and her dog...riding for miles and miles!
Then out of the blue, Baron decided to stop... right in the middle of the road--and no, I did not let go of the leash as planned. I flew past him, still holding the leash until the slack was taken up and then, yes, you guessed it, I stopped too. Abruptly. Very abruptly. (If you roller skated as a kid, you may remember holding hands with a couple of other kids and 'whipping them around the corners.' It was alot like that!) Whew! I somehow managed to stop without falling. Good thing since my helmet (which in my haste I'd neglected to cinch up) was jauntily tilted over my left ear. Behind me Baron was squatted, and pooping right in the middle of the road. How embarassing! Folks were eyeing us from their yards. Cars were cautiously circling around us. I straightened my helmet, fished a pooper scooper bag from my pocket, scraped the mushy mess off of the pavement, and set the the stinky bag in my pretty white wicker basket. Then Baron and I rode home.
The next morning we set out again. I was not going to be deterred by a little pooping mishap. Things were going along very nicely. We'd ridden successfully for 20 minutes. I decided not to push our luck and headed for home. As we turned down our block, a couple of surly little daschunds ran out of their house toward us--barking their fool heads off. At the same time a big Siamese cat darted across the lawn. Poor Baron! It was more than he could take. He dashed right in front of my bicycle after that cat! Did I let go of the leash? Nope! I hit the breaks, skidded to a stop and crashed right there in the neighbors' lawn. Baron had the cat cornered on the porch and the daschunds were sniffing the basket on my bike. Must've still smelled like poop. The lady of the house came outside to see what the ruckus was all about.
"Did you crash?" she asked.
"What an astute woman," I thought to myself as I lie there on the grass atop her tacky lawn ornaments and her dogs are licking my 'poopy' bike basket.
"Was it stupid of me--trying to ride my bike with my dog in tow?" I asked the doctor as she dressed my badly sprained wrist.
"Well, it's a lot to manage all at one time...a bike, a leash, and a big labrador retriever. I've been afraid to try it with my dog."
I think that was a polite way of saying Yes!