Pocket and the Green Grass

I am mostly a pavement walker.  When we are on our daily constitutionals, I tend to walk more on the tar than the grass.  I guess I have gotten used to it.

I have been a pavement walker since birth.  When we lived in the condo, I had to walk on the street to get to the designated bathroom area, and being a dog of very little bowel or bladder; I relieved myself before we reached the grass. When we walked at the state hospital grounds, I tended to stay on the tar even though there was grass on either side of the walkway.

When we walk at our current home, we can either go on the pavement or our neighbor's lawns. I choose the pavement.  My parents wish I would walk on the lawns. My habit of suddenly stopping at their feet has led to several near trip incidents.

We usually walk to the back of our park. There are fewer houses, less barking dogs to startle us, and fewer people who demand we come to them so they can have the pleasure of scratching us.  Often, humans forget they want to do this, and we have to bark to remind them. Sometimes, they don't get to pet us at all. Poor people! My parents say this interrupts their peaceful enjoyment of their walk.  Who walks a dog for peace?

Recently we have started walking towards the front of the development. There's a higher risk of seeing people, or barking dogs, and of our precious snowflake parents being disturbed, but it provides us the opportunity to go off property and explore the old abandoned barn near the city street.  This is an area with outstanding smells and fascinating pee-mail from creatures I could never hope to meet on our side of the road.

Next to the barn and behind the mailboxes is a big green lawn. We have walked on this grass before, but I have never really taken to it. Lately, I have found that walking on grass is a joyful experience.

It is June, and that makes it high time for grass. It is thick, green, and fragrant. I don't like the winter grass that's cold and bent. The early spring lawns are sharp and muddy.  I like the sound of leaves crunching under my paws in the fall, but all the discarded foliage robs the grass of its texture. During late summer the grass turns yellow and hard. No matter the season, I hate wet grass. Whenever I am on it, I end up soaked and have to be toweled off which I hate.

Right now, at the end of spring, the grass is perfect. It tickles my paws as I walk. I hop around like a ground ball on a Venezuelan junkyard infield while wearing a big smile. There is nothing like soft grass on a sunny spring day

I don't know how long we'll be exploring the grass.  Mommy has had two knee replacements on her shaky knees, and she prefers a level surface and not the hilly terrain at the barn or having to be on alert for all the holes and divots hidden by the thick grass on the lawn. She worries about creatures buried deep in the grass.  One tick and we're never going off road again.

River Song is not as picky about her walking areas as I am. As long as she can bury her nose in the grass and sniff like the Rock at the end of a promo, she is content.

I am going to enjoy my walking on the grass while I can. One day it will stop, either because Mommy tells us we can't go on the grass anymore because we picked up a tick, or one hot day I will be brought to the edge of the green and slam on the breaks refusing to go further.




Until then, I am going to enjoy the spring when Pocket discovered grass.