OLDnFEEBLE's Blog

Sam, my beloved retriever, keeps me honest with my daily walks. Once in the morning, usually before 6AM, and once in the evening, just as the sun is going down.

Now, Billy Boy (the little hell-hole mutt) doesn’t get to go on these walks. Anyway, opening the garage door sets Sam's tail to wagging as he looks around to see who might be out. Sometimes, the girlie dog down the street has escaped her backyard confines and sometimes, there's that gray, quick-footed coyote who lives in the woods behind Sam's house.

Soon, we're entering the retirement village. Now, there's a black and white kitty-cat lurking in the parking lot. (God, this is fun!) Very often, there's an old man who's got his spastic Scottie outside. If the old man sees us coming before his spastic Scottie - he quickly gathers up his newspaper and ushers the spastic Scottie inside. But (and here's the good part), if the spastic Scottie sees Sam first, the overweight (fed well and obviously never exercised) brat begins barking his tiny-head-attached-to-a-big-fat body off. Suddenly, the old man's wife begins screaming at the old man to gather up his newspaper and get the big, fat Scottie inside so as not to bring on a canine coronary.

We get to the end of the road and begin the journey back beside the woods. (Sam, ya gotta watch out for the broken beer bottles the human idiots toss out of their speeding cars along this stretch.) Sam keeps my pace, pausing here and there (always exactly the same places) to mark his superiority on this trail.

Soon, we're back to the garage. Billy Boy asks where we were. and the day begins, or the day soon ends. Whatever...Sam's day is complete. Bedtime, doggies!

There's only one thing Sam loves more than taking his daily walks - chasing his "bull". (For the uninitiated with Sam-speak, a "bull" is known in English as "ball".) Sam can easily stuff three tennis bulls in his mouth and occasionally even four. But, more about this later.