I just walked my dog. It's one of my favorite moments of the day. I've been out of town a lot lately, but Treble has not forgotten me. She came pouncing into my room at 6:45, a happy, expectant grin on her face. By the time I got my shoes on, she could barely contain her delight.
There are lots of things I enjoy about walking my dog. I like being outside early in the morning. I like the exercise. I like the sound of the birds chirping. I like the conversation I have with myself, my dog, and my God.
But my favorite part of the trip around the block is the Poop Wave.
Treble has her favorite drop location -- halfway on the journey -- at the most conspicuous place possible, where three roads meet. I guess she likes to be make a show. You might say she's a party pooper. Anyway, she stops, hunkers down like a football center before the handoff, and with neck out and tongue wagging, leaves her deposit. It only takes a few seconds before I dootifully pick it up with my plastic bags (two for better support). Mission accomplished, we continue on our way with a word of affirmation from me and a grateful grin from her. I hold the leash in one hand, and a bag full of poop in the other.
But it's not over. In fact, next comes my favorite part, probably because I have a strange sense of humor, having spent a lot of time taking middle school boys to camp. One of my neighbors will drive by. Being friendly, he waves. Being friendly, I wave back. Not the leash hand, either. The other hand goes up, from the elbow only, plastic bag steaming in the breeze like a fresh sacrifice offered at the temple. It's a greeting unlike any other, a canine blessing, a celebratory toast. "Carpe Diem, my friend. Today is a gift. Let's squeeze it for all it's worth. May things go smoothly for you. Go! Be warm and well-filled!" I suppose my neighbor was just being nice, but the Poop Wave brings me no small amount of joy.
Well, that's all for today. The bags are in the garbage and Treble is asleep on the floor. I hope you'll excuse me now. I have to go.