Walking with Sadie

Sadie and I walk the perimeter twice a day, which is getting easier.  We have a deal that while we are on the sidewalk by the street, Sadie stays on a short leash.  When I want to take a photo I'll say, "Wait," very politely, and Sadie stops and waits very politely.  If I see something that needs to go in the trash bag, I'll say, "Pickup!", another word for wait.  I am training Sadie to sit before crossing streets, and Sadie is improving daily. "Street" means, "Sit."  Part of our deal is that when we get to the turn to take the path that wanders the perimeter of Stonebridge, she sits, and then I exclaim, "Long leash, go play!" and she gallops off to the end of her leash.  She has learned not to run so hard she chokes herself. 

I do have a brief rant, and that is to excoriate people who a) don't pick up after their dogs, for which I do not blame the dogs or b) who don't pick up after themselves.  I don't like trash, so Sadie and I do pick up, especially around the swimming pool.  You'd be amazed (if you weren't amazed at the tiny tent) at the sorts of things we've picked up (sometimes gingerly):  rubber gloves, red covered copper wire which mysteriously frequently appears, a ripped up shoe, lollipop sticks, handwritten notes, beer cans, cigarette packs, and worse, cigarette butts.  As a former smoker I feel I'm paying for previous sins here. I particularly hate picking up cigarette butts from under my window, as it gives me a creepy feeling of a noir detective novel enacted nightly inches from my bed.  If I ever write my novel Murder in the Temple I might include the villianous smoker.