My dog Milo.
Not really. He's definitely both of ours.
He (Milo) knows it, for sure. Whenever the three of us go out for a walk, if one of us wanders away—to throw his poop in a distant trash can, for example—he gets almost beside himself, wondering where to be: with the poop person? with the one close by? It is such a dilemma.
I am told that when I go away—Israel and Italy recently, for a month, and then not much later, the Sierra foothills for a week—he mopes.
Well, I'm told they both mope.
Though I don't believe it, at least not 100 percent.
Because . . . they have each other. Here's a photo gallery of their bond. It is wonderfully strong.
David has gotten to be Milo's regular companion in the early morning, before David's 8 a.m. class, out for his (Milo's) first walk of the day. And every evening around 10, it's David who takes him (Milo) out for "Milo time!!!!" (Yes, we yell when it's Milo time!!!! It's so exciting!!!!)
|The Frog Pond just the other day|
So yesterday, the misunderstanding came about because David has been busy with music. He's often busy with music: I try to get used to it. At this very moment, for example, he's off playing with his rock 'n' roll band—and I'm glad: he loves it, and they do make some awfully good music (blues rock).
Yesterday, his musical obligation meant that he had to leave the house before 6, and he didn't get home until 4, and I was busy finishing something up, so we ended up with a 15-minute walk.
Which later on I got snarky about, and then he said something that he didn't mean, and . . . I felt bad. He felt bad. It was . . . well, it was one of those things that happens in a relationship. But aside from feeling a little hurt at what he'd said, I also felt not just a little guilty because of all that David does for Milo.
I mean, sure, I'm around the house during the day, and I say hello to Milo when he's not in his "cave" (i.e., the walk-in closet: his self-selected corner ever since he was but a pup, six years ago). I also let him out when he asks to be let out.
But David is the one who typically feeds him and takes him on that morning walk and evening "Milo time." I know that I rely on David too much in the dog department.
So today: I took Milo for a walk. A grand walk: Garland up the Waterfall Trail, all around the Mesa meadow, and when we got to the Mesa pond—I let him off his leash and told him, Go! And boy, off he went. He loves the Mesa pond, and right now it's full of water, without a hint of scum or algae. We even found a nice big stick, which I threw over and over and over again. And he fetched, over and over again. And kept asking for more. I think I wore him out. He's sacked in his cave as I type (I just checked: dead to the world).
So yeah: it could be that Milo and I will be getting out for some more walks just the two of us. Or, if David's musical obligations lighten up, that won't be necessary. But at least I know I don't need to wait for David to get me—and the dog himself—some good Milo time.
Here's a few photos from today:
Plus, there were polliwogs (of the bull frog variety: we heard the dad barking from across the pond):
|Fully four inches long: these are big suckers . . . |
and there where many dozens of them