While Walking Curt

It's been nearly a week since Duncan and I have strolled through the park. The rain and cold have kept us close to home, playing with other dogs in our vicinity down in The Glen or in the little bowl directly beneath my window. But tonight before I got home Duncan had decided that come hell or high water we'd be visiting the bunnies.

He was perched in my bedroom window when I drove up, his stuffed bunny hanging from his mouth, and although I couldn't see it, I'm sure his tail was wagging, smacking Olive, who likes to stand impossibly close to him at all times, nuzzling her cheek against his. I've watched her take a swish of his tail in the face then turn around and run the length of her back along his belly, heedless of his dancing feet.

By the time I'd climbed the thirty-seven stairs to my door, Duncan had plopped himself in the entryway and had already grabbed his leash, something he has only even done once before. He chirped like a bird, did his happy dance and followed me from room to room while I changed my clothes and grabbed a jacket. He met me at the door, one end of the leash still clutched in his mouth, the other dragging behind waiting to be picked up.

I'd barely done so and opened the door when Duncan pulled me outside and took me for a walk.