Regressing to a Walk

     Before we start on our walks, my legs feel elastic because I stretch them more than I need to. Saffron runs around the yard and rolls in the grass; he barks with joy while I assume the familiar positions and make a note of the time we begin. He's already exhausted and saves his bowel movement until we're about an eighth of a mile in, but I've long since overcome the frustration this habit used to induce. Now, I act surprised when we stop in his favorite spots. This pause yields good opportunity for whistle practice, and I hone my skills on the violin climax of a song from The Goat Rodeo Sessions, for example, before we continue our brisk movement. My feet align perfectly to the quick beat of the next shuffled song, and the hems of my blue shorts sway madly. 

     I'm sure that both Saffron and those blue shorts have reached iconic heights for some in the neighborhood because I wear them every time we go out. They're athletic, but they also have pockets for anything from treats to shit bags to my old Ipod Nano, in which I've invested sentiment. 

     "Nano" helps to stifle my embarrassment when Saffron decides to lunge at the yapping, rat-sized dogs we pass on the sidewalk along the creek by my elementary school. We pass girls and boys exploring that creek, which runs under tunnels beneath the ground. I think vaguely of how those tunnels are hotbeds for young imaginations and how small they would seem to me now. Every so often, I hear the children's shouts to one another over the music, so I increase the volume and begin to jog. 

     I can't keep it up for long, and Saffron knows. In the periphery of my vision, I see him looking up at me before he starts to lag behind. At this point we regress to a walk as we enter the neighborhoods past Southdowns Park, where I used to play in the woods. Sometimes, however, I tug him along; he runs through the grass again by my side. His tongue dangles along our route past my old middle school to our left and a small lake to the right. I like to run the short length of the lake, my feet still slamming the ground to the beat while I glance at the geese and the sunset's reflection. 

     The walk down Mur-Len and then 151st gives us time to think and return to a mellow state. I'm careful to never let Saffron get ahead of me. He knows his place is by my right side. 

     We both turn left on Lindenwood, and I see my high school in the distance. I haven't been inside to see all of the new construction and don't want to. If it's early enough, their cross-country kids run around and pass us by. We're near enough again to the bike trail that cyclers pass as well, and I'm glad that he's too tired to give a damn. It's back along the creek toward home, and by the time I walk through the door I'm tired, too, and irritable. An hour has passed, but at least he's happy. That's all I wanted.