Gunther

January 29, 2016

Today in our unfenced back yard I let go of Gunther’s leash so he could trot around, dragging it behind him.  I wondered if I would regret it.  Would he sprint away?

I watched as he visited all of his usual places.  Oh, the big tree behind the swing set where he often pees.  P. called it the “message board.”  Then he walked past the woodshed, cut past the aluminum duck boat that we sometimes use as a wading pool for our grandchildren.  In the summer we can fill it with water.  The kids sit in the water and pretend to paddle and fish on the dry lawn.

Anyway, Gunther sniffed around next to the garage in a pile of snow.  He did not seem inclined to bolt.

He came to me when I asked him and I picked up his leash and we walked around the block.

He pulled me uncomfortably hard, despite my objections.

But then he made me proud when he defecated and urinated.  I learned from the grandkids the guilty pleasure in squishing the poop inside a plastic bag.  Try it.  You might enjoy it.

When we returned to our driveway I unhooked his leash and he trotted past the back steps into the back yard.  “Gunther,” I said quietly.  “Come here.”  He trotted to me, then up the steps and through the door to the back porch.

I love Gunther.  He follows me around the house, but not into our bedroom where he knows he is not permitted.  Except today he did come in, but I reminded him to stay out.