Walking the dog

Everyday I take Benny out for a couple of walks. We have a few set paths that I like. They’re comfortable enough for me to trek, not too steep. Not too much traffic. Just some good and honest time and exercise with my little buddy (who is also a littler jerk, but that’s neither here nor there.

What’s funny is that our walks are a weird combination of catharsis and frustration. I like walking him around. It clears the mind. It lets me spend some quality time with my pup who is barely a year old and still very much full of piss and vinegar. Where we live, it’s pretty suburban, so it tends to be relatively calm, and the only real wildlife we ever see is rabbits.

But oh dear lord can it be annoying to have a dog that has a weird passion for furry creatures suddenly try and take off in a random direction because he saw something both fuzzy and prone to being bouncy. Those rabbits will shoot out of absolutely nowhere and run right in front of us. And of course, Benny flips the hell out as this cotton tailed creature suddenly Predator decloaks in front of us, shakes its little butt in his face and speeds away.

Benny is not a particularly big or strong dog, and yet my shoulder weeps in pain every single time this happens. Because… Rabbit.

I don’t really have a serious point with this post, other than to say this: Elmer Fudd was right all along.