Spazieren

After we had snarfed our tamales and rice, we sat for a while, two in the living room, one in the study. And the dog walked to and fro between us wagging his tail, staring with his eyes, jumping into miscellaneous laps.

Shall we go spatzieren? I asked.

The dog has dachshund in him. He knew what I was asking. His eyes widened and his ears when back. His walking changed to running back and forth between us, wondering why we weren't making a move for the leash.

I got my sweater. Trudy put the leash on the dog. We called the boy, asking no questions, just making a statement.

Come on, Ben. Time for a walk.

The boy protested, putting forth the weak argument that the doctor had warned against strenuous exercise while his jaw adapted to its missing wisdom teeth. The the argument was lame, and even the dog knew it. He didn't persist for long and was soon hopping out the front door putting his shoes on his bare feet.

And with our dog leading the way and a dark, new-moon-lit sky overhead, we went out for a walk around the neighborhood.

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