Christmas Sheila – Photo: L. Weikel
Declaration
I need to ‘fess up and make the following declaration: I NEED TO GET WALKING AGAIN!
The sad, sad truth is that I haven’t logged more than 2.3 miles (which I walked on Monday) in a single day since Sunday, August 4th, when I walked 3.7 miles. That’s simply unacceptable.
I did have one day that yielded interesting stats, though. Check it out:
In my defense, my most compelling excuse has been the oppressive heat and humidity that’s been blanketing our area. And for all you who live anywhere near me, you know the operative word here is, in fact, blanketing. It almost squeezes the breath out of you when you walk out the door and feel the heaviness of the air put the squeeze on you like those new weighted blankets I’ve seen being advertised.
Blame It On Sheila
And I don’t dare take Sheila. She’ll keel over. In fact, the old girl has given us a scare a couple of times recently, just deciding she’s going to ‘go on walkabout.’ We put her harness on, turn away to get her leash or pack some treats in a bag to take along on the walk and suddenly discover she’s decided to start the walk without us.
She’s never been like this! She’s always been the one we could consistently rely upon to stay on the porch and not wander off.
And what makes everything exponentially worse about the situation is that she really and truly is deaf – and pretty blind, too. The cataracts look pretty complete in one eye, and not insignificant in the other eye as well.
We can only guess that she (a) knows the way by rote, as she’s walked it so very many times throughout her life; and (b) her nose, combined with her recollection of the ‘usual’ walk itself, is her guiding light.
Nose Trumps All (and gets her in trouble)
Speaking of that nose, though… I think that’s what got her in trouble the other day.
Karl and I thought we might sneak in a quick walk (the 2.2) on Monday morning, before either of us plunged headlong into our day. We put on the pups’ harnesses in anticipation, even though we had yet to pick out cards for the day.
As we were choosing our cards, we suddenly realized that Sheila had wandered off. It’s weird. She and Spart are always around. We don’t pay constant attention to them – they’re just part of our lives. Sitting on the couch, cuddled on their outside pillow, basking in the sun on the grass when we’re outside, etc.
So it was all of a sudden that Karl looked at me aghast and asked, “Where’s Sheila?”
I looked around, my eyes surveying in a smooth search of the perimeter all of her usual haunts. No Sheila.
DARN it. We’d only minutes before joked about how we’d have to keep an eye on her, since we were putting her harness on. We were pretty sure she only went on walkabout, though, if we happened to leave her out on the porch by herself.
Well that was debunked almost immediately.
You Search One Way, I’ll Search Another
Karl, based on an experience he’d had right before leaving to pick me up at the airport Sunday morning, jumped into his car to do a sweep of our walking route.
Spartacus and I, on the other hand, headed back behind the barn. I was calling her, even though I knew that was fruitless, and also clapping my hands. Clapping seems to be the most effective and reliable way of getting her attention lately.
So I’m out there calling and clapping, calling and clapping. I go all the way back behind the barn to the wildflowers I pictured in last night’s post, checking in the tall, tall grasses, stopping now and again to see if there was any movement or sign of my Sheila.
Nope
Reluctantly, Spart and I head back up to the house. I just keep calling and clapping, calling and clapping.
Then I hear it: an unfamiliar rustling sound. I step off the porch. It sounds like it’s coming from the garage. I keep calling and clapping, calling and clapping.
More rustling. As I get closer, it now sounds like it’s coming from outside the garage. Perhaps the grove of trees just beyond it?
That’s when I encountered this:
Yes; apparently Sheila’s nose had diverted her into the garage, where she scored an empty bag of chips Karl had squirreled away while painting when I was at Amadell. Busted!
And there was Sheila, pretty well stuck. I’m sure all my calling and clapping had motivated her to come out of the garage – but her internal GPS was distorted inside the chip bag. While she may have known she took a wrong turn and been frustrated, I have no doubt her stress was significantly ameliorated by the yummy salt, fat, and chip crumb heaven she found herself in.
(Spartacus kept sniffing and licking the back of her head the rest of the day.)
We need to walk.
(T-828)