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On a Walk with my Golden Retriever

I thought I'd heard something, but I was wrong. It's actually what I didn't hear that made me pause. I glanced out the window, and then opened the door to see if it was really true. Sunny stood next to me with a hopeful, pleading look in her eyes. I smiled down at her, absently scratched her golden head and said, "C'mon girl, let's go for a walk. Quick, before God changes his mind." Sunny, tail thumping loudly against the wall, looked up at me and smiled. Yes, dogs do smile. She lifted her head and responded with an energetic, "Woo, woo, woo," and then bounded toward the kitchen closet where all of her stuff is kept.

When we walked outside, I paused and said, "Get your stick." She always has three or four "carrying" sticks to choose from that lay just outside the door. I learned early on that if she didn't have something else to hold, she would always grab a portion of her leash. I used to think that was cute, as it gave the appearance that she was walking herself. It wasn't so cute when we had to replace an expensive leash because her chewing on it eventually rendered it unusable. Sunny retrieved a stick, worked it around her mouth for a few seconds, dropped it, and chose another. Finally satisfied, she looked up at me. I could almost hear, "So, what are we waiting for?"

We set off down the street, and hadn't walked a dozen steps before I felt the first, second, and third drop. I sighed. I knew it was too good to be true. Sunny didn't seem to notice. She was too busy sniffing soggy wet grass and water-soaked plants for treasures that only a dog could admire. I was amazed at how the large stick she carried never seemed to get in the way of her olfactory pursuits. I tugged on her leash a couple of times to hurry her along. Water had found an opening at my collar, and was steadily dripping down my neck, snaking a trail down the center of my back. It was uncomfortable, and I thought about turning around and going back home. But it was only water, I conceded. I would dry, my clothes would dry, and eventually, even the dog would dry. So, we continued on.

I marveled at how quiet it was. Except for the soft pelting of rain against my nylon vest, there was absolutely no sound. The neighborhood folks were either at work, in school, or burrowed in their homes waiting for that momentous day when the sun would finally appear. No dogs barked, no birds sang, but most surprising of all, at that particular moment, there wasn't a single vehicle to be heard, not even on the normally busy road, just a block from where we were. It was downright eerie, like something out of the Twilight Zone.

We turned a corner, and in the same instance that I considered this must be what it's like to be deaf, my musings, and the silence were shattered. Out of nowhere came what could only be described as rapid gunfire, like from an automatic weapon. I instinctively moved toward a large stand of magnolia trees thinking I could hide there, while Sunny actually skittered, yes that's right, skittered forward about five steps, before reaching the end of her leash. She turned and looked back at me. By then, I was busy trying to drive my heart out of my throat, and back to where it belonged.

Then I laughed, equally as much to help me resume breathing, as to relieve the tension. Sunny, with that four-foot long stick still perfectly balanced in her mouth, tilted her head to one side, and looked at me inquiringly. I reached down and petted her. "It's okay girl, it was only a woodpecker trying to take down that light pole we just passed." She looked at me as if I had lost my mind, but sensing all was okay, took up the lead once more and pulled me toward home.

Learn more about this author, Debbie Wingate.
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