Dog

Tonight's walk sucked. Plain and simple. From start to finish. In fact Duncan and I aren't even on speaking terms at the moment. He's hunkered down on the tile near the door, his back to me, and I've retreated to my desk to write before eating dinner and putting this damn day to bed. I'd like to take the high road, be all noble and tell you it was my fault, all of it, that there was some lesson Duncan tried to teach me which I struggled to learn and failed to grasp, that my day, spent among the whining students and arrogant faculty at work tainted my perception and prevented me from letting go and enjoying the walk for its mindfulness and absence of ego. I'd like to say those things but the truth of the matter is Duncan was being a shit. Plain and simple. It was all his fault. I was happy, carefree, excited to walk, but that quickly changed. There were no lessons, no flowers, no kisses on the strained edge of conflict. There was no cuteness, no rolling in the grass to expose his pink belly, no happy trotting up the yard to where the bunnies roost. There was only Duncan, pulling and straining, gagging and huffing and dragging me behind him, weaving back and forth, stopping suddenly, refusing to poop, refusing even at times to walk. He was a petulant child and tonight I can only say this: sometimes a dog is just a dog, not a guru, not salvation, not a creature untethered by the constraints we struggle against every day. Just a dog. A panting, pooping, farting, crotch-sniffing dog.

(Post Script: Since I published this post Duncan has been the cuddliest, kindest, baby-faced-est dog imaginable. His PR firm must've contacted him and reported that he needs to clean up his act. He does, after all, have a rep to protect!)