Talleyho! To the Park We Go

“Walk?” Mopsy hurries to the door, head up, ready for Mission Squirrel. I buckle on her little red collar and tuck the leash into my pocket. As I close the gate behind us she trots down the long driveway as purposeful as the lead hound casting for the fox.

I myself might be a lord on a tall horse off for the morning hunt across the wild bogs of Devon or the green turf of Galway. Never mind that it’s just the sidewalks of small houses in a small California town and I’m on shanks’ mare, my own legs. Never mind that Mopsy’s not bred to outrun even a bunny rabbit: she a short Shih Tzu. A fox could carry her off as easily as he would a chicken. Mopsy couldn't tell a fox from a fox terrier. She busy hunting for squirrels.

She’s off leash until the end of the block. She may piddle on the curb area between the walk and the street but she must never step onto anyone’s grass and she must never set a paw on the street, although there’s not much traffic. She's focused on the mission.

So straight and narrow it is. She trots confidently ahead, all business, her tailfeathers shaking over her back. She sniffs delicately at a much-tinkled-on fence post here and there, then, leashed up we cross the street and come to the rolling green grass of Morgan Park, immaculately groomed by the city of Campbell. Nary a popsicle stick nor a dog poop since dogs are forbidden, even on leashes, in most Bay Area parks.

Thus, protected like the king’s royal stags, squirrels scamper freely on the grass beside the sidewalk under the tall redwoods. Look over here, I whisper, pointing. Being so short, her eyes only eight inches above ground, Mopsy doesn’t often see them. I don’t like squirrels. They’re not native and they dig up my gardens. They’re rodents, for Pete’s sake. So if Mopsy ventures onto the forbidden grass on this six foot leash, I say, Go get ‘em! Of course they’re up the other side of the tree before she takes the first step. Yes, I hate to hold her back, she’s having so much fun.

I have ridden to hounds on a tall horse, back in the day. Black cap, jacket, gleaming leather, bright jangling bits, the stone wall beneath me as the horse flies over. The landing, the gallop behind the hounds who pour over the ground, long ears back, tails waving like glorious flags. All, all of us as joyful in the chase as Mopsy on a short leash in a city park. The hounds never got a fox and Mopsy will never get a squirrel but now we both know how it feels.