One More Drop - Or the Difference Between Boys and Girls

We have a dog. He's a Boston Terrier. His name is Fenway. We bought Fenway four years ago because our house was "too quiet". Our house is no longer too quiet.

When I was growing up near Chicago I had a boxer named Buff. Across the country my one-day-husband had a boxer named Duke. When our kids were growing up we had a wonderful boxer, Daisy. We were boxer "people". However now that we live in a very small house in Bay View there wasn't even room enough for a dog bed big enough for a boxer - thus we got a smaller version.

One of the reasons we decided to move back into the world of dog ownership was the idea that Fenway would get us out of the house, walk the neighborhood and get more exercise. s

It's hard to ignore those bulgy brown eyes looking at you as you lace up your walking shoes - and if you say the magic words "Do you want to go see the Lake?" he will race you to do the door. We've learned to be ready to go as soon a we make that statement - jacket on, key in pocket, poop bag in hand. Once you say "Do you want to go see the Lake?" you better be ready to go see the Lake!

I have also learned that walking a boy dog is very different than walking a girl dog. Boy dogs like to sniff everything and taken ownership of every tree/bush/fire hydrant and possibly most blades of grass along the way. Somehow Fen doesn't care that a 14 minute mile is a good pace in order for me to get some exercise and the blood pumping. He is driven to make his mark so that any other dog passing by later in the day will understand that this is his bush/tree/fire hydrant/grass. I seem to remember that Daisy and I made our two mile walks at a much more rapid pace. Sometimes she would veer off the sidewalk to pick up a stick to carry, but other than that she walked. Fenway
walks/veers/walks/sniffs/stops/walks. I am forever saying "Come on Fenway….let's GO!"

And just how does he make his mark? He lifts his leg and pees on each chosen bush/tree/telephone post/fire hydrant/grass plot/fence along the route. Apparently this is just something that boy dogs do. And by the time we've made it home he really has to work hard to make his mark - his bladder is empty….but he is one determined little guy. He will stand with one let raised and find just one more drop so that this last fence/tree/fire hydrant/blade of grass is now one of his!

So I blame my twenty minute mile on Fenway, not on the fact that I'm thirty years older than when Daisy and I rapidly covered our daily route. Happily buying a boy dog makes that excuse seem reasonable - who knew?!

:-)