Today, I learned that I can juggle while humping Double Dutch ropes. Such skill inherently lie within the body's abilities, just waiting to be brought out during that special instance you find yourself walking two dogs whom have never walked together before. A Walk in the Park is such an easy, pleasant experience that they named a cliche after it, but today's sojourn was slightly different. One dog wanted to sniff every little piece of litter in South Philly's FDR Park we cam across (to scale, think if a standard garbage can blew up all over a grass tennis court), while the other wanted to go swimming in water only two grades above that which you'd find in a Porta Potty.
Oh, Bird!!!! Of course, we need to chase it.
Wait!! One sees a drunk guy walking to a Phillies game, so of course we need to bark at him.
The entire walk, the Anchor and the Acrobat wrap me back and forth by the two retractable leashes. Dogs can tie more knots with their leashes than most sailors know.
But then, for a precious thirty feet, it was incredible. There they walked, side by side. Like a proud papa, I couldn't help but grin ear-to-ear. In that very (short) moment, they loved one another as much as I loved each of them. They coexisted, content with each other's company. No showing off, no dominance, no teaching or learning. Two smiles, two wagging tails, a warm summer breeze and one happy dog owner.
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For just over twenty-four hours, I've found myself flanked by my new pack. As I write the first draft of this, they both surround me. On my left-hand side lies my faithful old companion, Sheba, the noble old Chocolate Lab with a creaky, arthritic body, sweet cataract-filled eyes and a heart of gold. To my right, there's little Aggie (short for Agnes, or Agatha, or Aggressive), the wild new cannonball in town. Aggie's completely white, a dog of some Arctic decent (we've heard husky, malamute, eskimo, samoyed, but the truth is probably somewhere in the middle). She's thirteen weeks old, coincidentally opposite Sheba's thirteen years. It's been one day, but despite some Alpha Dog give-and-take, they're already a team. They're a canine Batman and Robin, if only Robin had a Red Bull and Speed problem.
Just like the Caped Crusader, Sheba always does what she thinks is right, regardless of the toll it takes on her aging body. It may no have the glamor of crime fighting, but Sheba will never pee on the floor because she knows it's wrong, even if it means sitting her arthritic backside on the hard kitchen tile until someone notices and lets her outside. It's still very early, but Aggie is learning from her adoptive sister. Sheba will make it outside and pee, much like an old car leaking oil in the driveway. Ever the perceptive pup, Aggie will catch on and leave a little puddle right next to her hero's. She eats when Sheba eats, (usually) without invading her space. she even lays near Sheba during one of her many daily naps, even though the pup herself only needs about forty-five minutes of sleep per day. As I continue writing, Sheba sleeps on my left, and Aggie lays to the right, awake and chewing on her new toy, but still taking cues from her best friend.
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The scene that will likely be the only thing I remember about today was the aforementioned thirty feet where they walked next to each other in perfect rhythmic harmony. It reminded me of the time before my brother and I were best friends, when we were merely Big and Little brothers. Aggie following Sheba's step, looking up to her for direction, validation. Sheba watching Aggie, protecting with her eyes, filled up with pride. The unspoken, understood nature of siblings and their relationship is one of life's simplest and organic joys. The innocent beauty of the shared experience.
I hate to think about it, but I know at Sheba's age, her time will eventually come to an end. Aggie won't understand where her best friend went at first, and she'll get a little sad. But she will know the changing of the guard has taken place (they always do, as I've always seen in my parents dogs). When another puppy enters the scene, Aggie will know she's the teacher now. It's a bit of a sad cycle, but it's also life-affirming. Over the course of my lifetime, I will have seen a family tree of sorts built in front of me, filled with great dogs who have learned and taught each other the code of their pack. Years from now, I'll walk Aggie and her new sidekick in the same way, only this time my wife will join me (Sheba, Aggie and the next in line have nice ringside seats to the beginnings of a family). Years after that, I'll walk the now-grown dog and her new friend, only maybe the pup will be walked by one of my children. And it will go on, until one day I'm the one leaving the pack behind.
Regardless of what happens after we leave this earth, my dogs and I will always have the innocent beauty of the shared experience. It's sad, it's beautiful, it's a little defeating but it stands for something, and it will always remind me of how amazing our time here can really be.
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