There will be no rolling

Morning sniff walks with the small dog called Maddie are both tedious and fraught. I can only describe Maddie's approach to walking as conflicted. She likes to be in charge. Unfortunately, she's a very small dog. She doesn't see it that way. I can be sure Maddie will do something crazy at least once during our walk. 

We have a routine before we get out the door. First, I say, "Do you want to go for a walk?" I can't be sure but I think Maddie hears that question as bla bla bla walk? She sits on her narrow bony haunches and looks at me with huge brown liquid untrusting eyes. As soon as I pick up the little red harness and leash, she skulks away into the family room, just far enough so she can still see me in case she needs to bolt under the dining room table if I come too close. I dig a little heart-shaped smoky chicken-flavored treat out of the ziplock bag and hold it up. She looks at it, then looks away, then looks sideways at it. She smells it. She wants it. In her mind she's saying, give me that thing, I will rip your lips off, mine, must have it, but wait, no, no, not the evil red constraint on my freedom, no, no, but wait, cookie, mine, in my belly, now!

"Treat!" I say. She knows the word. She gazes back and forth at the little morsel and then at the harness and leash. 

I step back and point to her crate. "Box!" 

She rolls her eyes and slinks into the crate. I kneel down and hold the harness in front of her chest. Up goes her right paw. I quickly position the harness so her foot will come down in the right place. She stiffly raises the other paw, like someone is pulling her marionette strings. I maneuver the harness. Then I lean in and snap the connection at the back of her neck. With one hand I give her the treat. "Good girl!" I say. With my other hand, I grab the leash and connect it to the rings at the back of the harness. She is now my prisoner. 

With that, our fight is over. She plods along with me while I put on my sunglasses and sunhat and grab the front door key. She follows me to the stairs and waits patiently, licking her chops, as I sit on the lowest step and switch my sandals for sneakers. Out the door we go. As soon as the front door closes, she is energized. She strains toward the wide world of enticing smells as I strain to lock the door behind us. 

Mornings in Scottsdale are wondrous. The air is cool and fresh. The sun, my enemy, is still just waking up, a weak imitation of the fierce moisture sucking monster it will soon become. 

Maddie chooses the path and pace. I follow her lead. I know all the routes now. Thanks to Maddie's shrewd discerning nose, I also know all the canine message boards of the neighborhood. Signposts, big metal boxes that proclaim high voltage, don't fence me in, and, of course, the occasional fire hydrant. Certain bushes, rock piles, and clumps of grass are interesting for some reason. At that hour of the morning, sprinkler systems have just watered the many front lawns. The sparkling green is like eye candy to me, a reminder of home. I mean, my former home.

When we get to the green space, the sniff walk takes on new tension. Other dogs are walking their owners along the winding concrete path, and some are not on leash. When I see another dog approaching, I've learned to stop and watch Maddie closely. If she is starting to rev up for a lunge, I rush her up the grassy slopes to let the other dog pass by. Maddie won't take on a really big dog, but dogs her size or smaller are fair game. Sometimes her tail wags, but usually she is on full-body quiver, ready for anything. Her modus operandi is lunge first before they know what hit them. 

At least once per walk, I am yanking the leash so her front feet on off the ground saying "No, no, no, no, be cool, be cool, no barking, chill out," which I am guessing she hears as no no no bla bla bla.

"Oh, is she a rescue?" someone asked today as they called back their tiny spindly legged critter, who I am sure only wanted to say hello. 

I excuse my high strung charge's behavior by saying, "I'm the dogsitter," which is really my way of saying please don't judge me, it's not my fault I haven't done a better job of training and controlling this neurotic chihuahua-poodle nutcase. The dog owner's expression combined confusion, criticism, and pity. Like, that's such a cute dog, what is wrong with you? 

When we are off the main dogpath/bike path and onto the path that goes along the backs of houses, where an alley would go, we both relax and get busy with the business of sniffing. Walk, walk, walk, stop and sniff. Walk, walk, whoa, stop and sniff, something amazing here! Pile of poop! Dead bird! Oh, the odiferous joys!

A dozen times per walk, Maddie gets a look of ecstasy on her face. She stops. Her shoulder goes down. "No, no!" I yell, hauling quickly up on the leash before she does a full-body roll in the grass. "No rolling, there will be no rolling!" I pull her back to her feet. She grins at me and resumes trotting along the verge of the concrete, nose to the ground, tail up sometimes, sometimes tail down, always quivering at the panoply of smells. I assume. After I pick up her leavings, I close my nostrils to all input. 

I think she likes to test my limits. She's already won the fight over the couch (I'm on a foam pad on the floor), and so she probably thinks I'm a pushover for rolling. Wet green muddy grass rich with the fecund smells of dog poop, pee, who knows what else, what could be more fun than to do a full-body roll in that heavenly stink. I've never tried it so I can only guess.