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.

Mopsy's First Cat

Update to Bonnie Pratt, Mopsy’s breeder:

Why would Mopsy suddenly not go down the block on her leash? She’d learned to sniff and piddle but one day last week she just sat down on the sidewalk and looked at me with those big, brown Shih Tzu eyes. No cookies or enthusiastic thigh slapping, no pulling or jerking would budge her. I couldn't drag my twelve pound dog down the street so I gave up and we came home.

But then she would go with me, off leash. Very dangerous! Other dogs on leash terrify her, God knows why. But she would not go down the block with Jim, even off leash so he carried her to the end of the block, put her down but then carried her back past a friendly, sniffy dog. He doesn't mind. It's his first dog. But I imagine myself an experienced dog trainer. Hmm.

Now she may go down the block off leash and let me put it on before we cross the road. But she’s bored with that part of the walk where we might meet other dogs. Any size. Yesterday a Chihuahua charmed her so much little Mopsy leaned over to sniff, waggling eagerly. But the wretch suddenly snapped at her. Thank God she's fast!

She had never even noticed, let alone met, a cat until I happened to toss a bowl of water into the jasmise vines beside our back deck where Mopsy lay deep in her afternoon snooze. The wet and surprised cat, hunting birds in this exotic jungle, leaped out onto the deck. The big, fluffy fellow landed i right beside Mopsy with a thud and woke her up.

In a flash the cat flew off the deck with Mopper right behind it. Down the path, out through the gate--note to self, keep the gate closed— and down the long driveway as fast as a big cat and a short-legged dog can run. Barely ahead, the cat turned right onto the sidewalk with yapping Mopsy on his tail, her long ears twirling like two propellers. Satisfied, the Mop stopped a few feet down the walk at the property line, her pretty head and ears up. She snorted importantly and circled twice to be sure her territory was clear. Then she then trotted back into the yard, sneezing, extremely pleased with herself.

First cat, ever. And bigger than she. Four houses down, that rascal sat in the middle of the sidewalk, his sidewalk, watching us.