The Politically Correct Dog Walk

So I finally convinced my husband to start exercising. Well, not as in weight lifting and sweating; but a compromise - he’s now taking walks with me.

We have two dogs, so of course a walk should be a no-brainer. Our Newfoundland, Boo, is becoming an old man with hip problems (I told my husband to start moving his body or he’d shortly become much like our old dog) and can’t really take walks anymore. I feel sorry for the old boy; his body is screaming “no”, and his mind is still in puppy hood and is dying to get outside and run – not unlike me and my 50 year old body that still thinks it can fit into jeans from the teenage department. There are a lot of times when the body and mind just don’t match up.

Getting ready for a walk is kind of an ordeal. We have to find the leash for our 2 year old terrier, Charlie, we have to hide Boo’s eyes so he can’t see us taking Charlie without him, we have to change into our sweats and shoes and wear our sunglasses, and we have to make sure we take a plastic bag in case Charlie needs to do his business. I’d say actually we’ve come a long way, because before when I wanted to walk, my husband would wear his jeans, boat shoes, a nice shirt and carry either a glass of wine or a cup of coffee in one hand (depending on the time of day), and his cell phone in the other. Now he finally understands the words “sweat” and “aerobic exercise” – not to mention “quality spousal time”.

The only problem is, I am so grateful that he is finally accompanying us on these walks that I don’t make him “do” anything. I walk the dog and I carry the doggy bag. I correct the dog when he wants to pull my arm out of the socket because he sees a squirrel or, heaven forbid, a cat. I am the one training him to “heal” and “sit” and walk nice on the leash (Charlie, not my husband).

And guess what other job I get to do? I get to pick up any doggie presents Charlie leaves behind. And I get to hold the full bag for the entire walk. What is wrong with this picture? I know that I am grateful that my husband is coming with us, and that he is getting his cardio-vascular workout. And that I have a captive audience to complain to – I mean talk to – for at least a half hour of the day. But really, he needs to start holding his own. Or, to be more specific, he needs to start doing his duty, and holding the doody bag. And Charlie has it down to a science. He waits until we are several blocks away from home to let nature call…too far to turn around and throw the bag away. So it has to be carried for the next half hour. And I’m not sure about your neighborhood, but in our neighborhood, the doggie bag is almost a status symbol. If you are seen walking your dog without a bag, you may as well consider yourself uninvited to the block party. It is considered totally un-cool. I have decided, however, since my husband won’t have a leash or glass of wine or coffee or cell phone in his hand to distract him, he will be the one you will see him coming a block away with his status symbol, florescent blue doggie bag.

What more could I want? I finally have my hearts desire: A healthy, attentive, poop carrying husband. Sometimes it’s just the simple things.