Sunday Walk Special

Arthur lives for walks. Doesn't every dog? Walking him is not nearly the ordeal it was a few years ago when he'd bark at most living things and act like he hadn't been outside in 50 years. Now he sits at the every corner before crossing the street and doesn't go beserk when he sees other dogs. (Cats? Couldn't Care Less). Also, there's less pulling my arm out of the socket.


He does do the kick-at-the-dirt thing with his back legs after he pees, which wouldn't be unusual except that he gets this wild look on his face and karate chops his legs behind him really fast. That's what he's doing in the picture above, although only an mpeg would do it justice - you have to see it in action. If I don't pull him away, he'd kick for five minutes.


A few years ago, when Arthur still thought "heel" meant to yank at the leash so my head snapped back, my brother-in-law bought this complicated-looking silver walk collar, which is supposed to be more effective and more humane than a choke chain, but to me looks like an instrument of torture. My sister and I call it "pinchy." I certainly wouldn't want to wear one. Still, it has made the walks a more pleasant experience. That, and Arthur's increasing willingness to actually listen to me. I don't think he cares what kind of collar he has on, though. He's just happy to be outside.