We live on the top floor in a home, on the tippy-top of the hill, of the third highest hill in the city. And, as I remind Shimmer when he’s apt to explore a new trail towards some dark morass, every step down is one up.
It turns out dogs aren’t so good at abstract thinking. Like gravity, he’ll insist on pulling us down. Sometimes we’ll be on a walk, who-knows-where, and I’ll see our home, literally in the clouds, looking like it’s miles away. My heart often drops thinking about our trudge back.
However, we found a way to make it more enjoyable. Shimmer, being a race dog, is happiest when he’s in the lead. I found that if I walk a little faster and pass him, his old instincts kick in, and he’ll pull ahead. We’ll walk normally for awhile, and then suddenly, I’ll charge to the front. Back and forth–him with dogged determination and me with many unmanly giggles– we challenge each other to the top of the hill. Shimmer always wins, of course, and he’ll sometimes look back and shoot me a look of condescending pity. It doesn’t matter, at least we’re home.
Home on the tippy-top of the hill, of the third highest hill in the city.