The Walk

Walking Grisby is always a curious endeavor. To me, it is a way to enjoy the fresh air and get some exercise. I look at the sky, the trees, the pond, and occasionally the ground, so that I don’t stumble. I breathe deeply and listen to the birds chirp. It is a multi-sensory experience for me. But for The Griz, the walk is a single sensory experience. It all involves his finely-tuned olfactory system.

During a typical walk, Gribys never – except during elimination – lifts his nose from the ground. He is singularly-focused on capturing the whole 20 minute experience through both nostrils. Bloodhound he is not, but Grisby most assuredly thinks he is just as keen a sniffer as one.

Yesterday, on our walk, Griz smelled and peed on (until he ran out, but still tried) 42 different items. Tired of the brown patches on our front lawn, I have learned to steer him first to the gravel driveway for the initial deposit of most of his reservoir. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that Griz’s walks are entirely an olfactory experience for him because in the driveway Gris finds the spare corn chip or bit of hamburger bun that was absently kicked off the floor mat of a vehicle. He is determined not to miss the tiniest of morsels. He remembers exactly where to go too. He thoroughly inspects those areas outside both cars’ driver’s doors.

Once this task is complete, he happily trots to the side of our driveway about one-quarter of the way down the hill and tries to head toward the opening in the fence to our garden. It’s the place he once spotted a rabbit, when we ventured in. He pulled clean out of his dog collar and shot off from a dead stand-still, in full-out chase, before I even realized what was happening. He later appeared on our front porch, looking smug. I don’t think he caught that hare, but he sure enjoyed trying. This was over a year ago, mind you, and after this escapade, his collar was tightened by two holes. Still, the Griz has not forgotten. So, once more, he will try that opening.

Like I do every time, I say "no, Griz" and continue down the driveway. Before long we are at the street and here is where the fun begins. Nose to the ground, he seems intent to determine the origin of every living creature that has traversed the front of his property.

I can always tell when Griz finds something only mildly interesting or something extremely interesting. The latter causes his little body to become rigid and even tremble some times. It happened yesterday when Grisby came face to face with a crawfish. The thing was happily minding its own business when Griz found it under a leaf. Grisby smelled it until it had no smell left, I think. It did not move a muscle until the moment Griz raised his head a fraction. That is when it tried to make it’s escape. Mistake, Mr. Crawfish. Griz jerked and put his front paw on its head. A split second later, Grisby jumped strait upward, at least one foot off the ground. I think the thing tried to pinch him, but I never heard a whimper out of Griz. He simply proceeded to bat it into the road where I promptly stepped on it. Great excitement ended very abruptly… Too abruptly for Grisby. He continued to eye it, daring it to move… which of course it did not.

A slight tug on his leash had Grisby turning his attention to the lawn’s perimeter once again. He proceeded to walk me across the front of our property. I always wonder why some dogs literally choke themselves, straining against a leash until their own hoarse cough reminds them of their physical limit. Griz is one such dog. Strain... cough… strain… cough. For a dog that I consider fairly bright, it is a goofy and ignorant repetition, but again, his olfactory system is dominant right now. There can be no other option for The Griz.

Finally we turn north and head up the hill along the long, most distant length of our pond. He likes the cool long grass; I can tell. He is running but still sniffing. When he hits the next rigid/tremble smell, he stops so abruptly, he almost somersaults. Then The Griz does something he has done a thousand times… I call it the Icky, Sticky Scrub. The side of Gris’s small head and neck become a scouring pad as he literally tries to get all the icky sticky off the ground and onto him. Usually by the time I inspect the spot, I cannot tell what the icky sticky formerly was. But, it is a dead and decaying something, and the more Grisby scrubs the more obnoxious the aroma that wafts upward into my own nostrils.

Someone please tell me why a dog does this? I’ve seen it a hundred times and I’ve not seen it but experienced the aftermath a hundred more. He just cannot wait to get that smell on him. Why? He knows that it always results in the most diabolical event in his life – a bath. But still he persists. Luckily, I pull him away before real damage is done. I am determined not to let the 20-minute walk turn into a 40-minute-walk-followed-by-bath event.

The north side of our pond dips down into a ravine covered in wet leaves, as trees border both sides of it. This time of year, the moisture is accelerating the decay and Grisby finds these smells even more intoxicating. He must uncover every leaf he finds. If I thought the strain-cough-strain-cough routine was bad before, it is a thousand times worse now. I start jogging up the other side of the ravine to the high spot that gently tapers downward toward the other side of our driveway. He is forced to keep up with me now.

At this point, Griz knows the walk is almost over. He begins to slow way down and it is me that is pulling him, versus the other way around. He tries his best to extend what little time he has left. As we travel up the driveway, Grisby pretends he has stepped on something and begins to do a 3-legged hobble. I stop and inspect his paw, but he has tricked me again. There is nothing there. This escapade happens a couple more times before we are at the garage entrance to the house.

His face is in a pout. I mean it is a decided pout. I can say this because when The Griz is excited, he smiles. (Will save that for another excerpt.) So, I know he is dismayed that his favorite part of the day is now over.

Tonight, when I take him into the front yard to relieve himself before bedtime, I will have to be extra careful. He still remembers the walk and knows that he could try to make an escape over the eastern slope of our front yard, sniffing and scrubbing everything I denied him previously.

Right now, though, he is content. He jumps up onto our large red sectional and eases under a blanket for a late afternoon nap - his third one today, I think. No thank you. Not even a nod of acknowledgement. In fact, the Griz pays me no mind at all. I have served his purpose for now. Ah well... This goofy little fellow owns my heart, and he knows it.

Tomorrow will bring us another adventure. I can't wait!