Sam’s Big Adventure
Samson doesn’t have what you might call “road sense,” in that he doesn’t have sense enough not to leap into the road when traffic is barrelling towards him. Even in the parking lot he’s usually oblivious to an approaching car until it gets within one dog-length of him, when it startles him. Slower-moving dogs, on the other hand, he notices a block away. I guess terriers haven’t evolved their way into living with cars yet.
Usually when we go on walks I try to minimize the number of major streets we cross, which means the walks get a bit repetitive: every morning we walk around our block, and every afternoon we walk around the next block over. In the evenings we do a lap around the building for one last pee before bed.
I’m totally fine with this, but the other day I let Sam take the lead on our afternoon walk, just to see where he actually wanted to go. Revolutionary idea, eh? I’m the coolest mom ever. One day I might even let my kids pick out their own ice cream flavors.
He headed, of course, straight for the busiest street around and meandered along the sidewalk for a while, sniffing every markable bush and streetlight. He pooped, we crossed a small street, and then, seeing the sidewalk stretching into the distance in front of him, Sam decided it was road trip time and set himself travelling. No more sniffing (except when there was discarded fast food involved), no more pees, just a determined trot.
In fifteen minutes or so we were half a mile from home. We came to an overpass at the intersection with another busy road. Sam followed the sidewalk around the corner, so I figured at the next cross-street I’d turn him again, whether he wanted to or not, and we’d make our way home.
But a few dozen feet past the corner he stopped, as if he’d just noticed the overpass. He watched the cars zoom by for a minute, his head flicking back and forth as each passed. Then suddenly he turned around and headed straight back the way we came.
Remember that part in Forrest Gump when Forrest runs a few thousand miles, and then out of nowhere he’s like, “Well, I’m done running. I think I’ll go home now.”? It was like that.
The trot was faster on the way home; he wasn’t full-out sprinting, but I had to jog to keep up. Sam retraced every step he’d made, walked right up to the front door, and stood waiting for me to unlock it. I kid you not.
The whole walk was determined by Sam’s whims. All I did was help him cross the street safely, pick up his poop, and keep him from eating old Taco Bell wrappers or peeing on people’s newspapers.
To top it off, of the three times he attempted to dart out into traffic, only once did he do so from behind a parked car. Now I feel a wee bit better that if he ever got out, he’d find his way back without major incident. It’s maybe 50-50, which is a better shot than I’d ever given him before.
I predict many more choose-your-own-adventures in Sam’s future. It shows me where he wants to go and lets us both get to know the neighborhood better. Success!