Walking stories

How am I walking?

April 1, 2025

Anyone who knows me, knows that I — Greenberg the dog — can read. Before innocent dinner guests escape, Leah never fails to subject them to dining room demonstrations of my literacy. Many with whom I am unacquainted, however, will be surprised not only at that, but also by my ability to write.

Leah, of course, is well aware of the breadth of my capabilities – which range from peeing on the floor and barking at the neighbors’ dog to reciting such classics as “Casey at the Bat” and Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy – and that’s why, like everybody else in this damn world, after our last walk, she sent me a survey to fill out. I can't imagine how she plans to use this, unless she is dreaming about starting a new career as a dog-walker, for which (see below) she seems somewhat under-prepared, and dare I say it?, unqualified.

One of my personal character flaws is oversharing, and I hope you’ll forgive me if this gets too much into the weeds, actually one of my typical problems on a typical walk (again, see below). The following are my honest and true bona (or perhaps bone) fide responses to her “How Am I Walking?” survey.

HOW MANY TIMES IN A TYPICAL DAY ARE YOU WALKED?

Four.

AND WHO IN THE HOUSEHOLD IS THE PRIMARY WALKER?

The one who has no beard but does have treats in her purse.

AND DO YOU DEEM THAT SUFFICIENT FOR YOUR DIGESTIVE NEEDS?

The treats? Never. The number of daily walks, most days, I guess so. But on some occasions, just for the heck of it, I like to get up at 3:30 a.m., scratch at the bedroom door to wake them, and badger her to throw off the blankets and lurch downstairs to let me into the garden.

DO YOU THINK THAT YOUR WALKER SUFFICIENT PREPARES YOU FOR THE ACTIVITY?

Well, she usually snaps me into that harness okay, but about once every 10 times, she puts one paw through the wrong leg opening. Then she drags me down the front steps and usually schleps me along for a half-block or so before she even notices that something is wrong. Also, if it’s raining, she makes me wear a stupid-looking slicker that I’m ashamed to be seen in. And also, as long as foul weather’s the subject, why does she always dry me off with an old towel? Don’t I deserve more than than threadbare schmata?

ON A SCALE OF 1 TO 10, I BEING FEH AND 10 BEING OH YEAH, DO YOU ENJOY YOUR WALKS?

Eight. I’d say nine if she could guarantee that there’d be no fire engines or skate boarders passing. They really know how to ruin to a good time.

HOW WELL, ON A SCALE OF 1 TO 10, DOES SHE UNDERSTAND YOUR NEEDS?

I’d give her a seven. She slows down nicely when she sees me circling on a patch or dirt or suddenly sniffing around intently with my head down, so I have to acknowledge that she respectfully lets me poop in peace. On the other hand, if I spot a piece of pizza crust on the sidewalk, swoop in to pick it up — waste not, want not is part of my DNA — she makes a big whooping fuss about it, prying open my mouth, pulling it out and flinging it into the gutter. (Incidentally, I had the last laugh one day when she pulled a burrito out of my mouth and flung it away, its contents spilling all over the hood of a car that was parked at the curb.)

HAVE YOU ATTEMPTED TO EXPRESS YOUR DISPLEASURE AT HER EFFORTS TO REMOVE FOOD FROM YOUR MOUTH?

Well, I’m not going to bite the hand that feeds me, am I? I mean, I know that’s trite, but it’s literally true in this case. On the other hand, I am considering consulting a lawyer. I know one very well.

ON A SCALE OF 1 TO 10, DO YOU FEEL THAT YOU HAVE A SUFFICIENT OPPORTUNITY FOR FEEDBACK, TO EXPRESS YOUR WORRIES AND WISHES WHILE YOU WALK?

She keeps telling me to shut up. No, she doesn’t use that exact phrase, “shut up,” because she doesn’t want neighbors with big ears to think she can’t control me, or that she is uncouth. But I’d be a dope if I didn’t grasp that “shhh” means “shut up.”

HAS SHE BEEN ABLE TO ADAPT TO TECHNOLOGY THAT MIGHT HELP FULFILL YOUR NEEDS?

I’d say that’s mostly N.AS. I admit, I’m kind of a Luddite. If I ever got into social media, I wouldn’t have enough time to hunt for socks and crumbs. (My hobby is collecting the former and eating the latter.) I’ve tried Pokemon, but it’s just a no-go. On the other hand, I have been expected to adapt to her use of technology. It’s not unusual at all for her to be yak-yak-yakking on her cell phone while she’s walking me. And then if I do chose that time to do what I’m out there to do, she’s digging into her pockets looking for a treat and searching for a plastic bag and wondering if she has enough hands to hold the phone and the leash, too. I mean, come on, first things first.

HOW CAN SHE IMPROVE YOUR WALK EXPERIENCE?

There’s a guy in the neighborhood who carries baby wipes to use on his dog’s behind apres le main event. I am usually not in need of such pampering, but full-size treats would be much preferred over those little bits, halves and quarters that she dishes out as though she’s lady bountiful. Does she think I won’t notice I’m being shortchanged? Also, maybe this is pie-in-the-sky, but this question does seem to want to evoke a wish-list. When we come upon a pigeon on the sidewalk, or hovering in someone’s entryway, would it hurt her to bark along with me? I will bark on my own, but think of how much more effective that would be, if she barked along with me.

ON A SCALE OF 1 TO 10, HOW LIKELY WOULD YOU BE TO RECOMMEND THIS EXPERIENCE TO A FRIEND?

I’d say six. It’s not that it’s an unpleasant experience, but I give it this less-than-a-rave endorsement because I don’t want anybody to come along with us. It’s not only that I relish my privacy, it’s also that I doubt she would want to be walking another dog four times a day. She must have some kind of life.

ON A SCALE OF 1 TO 10, ARE YOU LOOKING FORWARD TO MAKING USE OF THIS SERVICE AGAIN?

Ten all the way, maybe even 11. My enthusiasm for embarking on a walk sometimes depends on what snack I found in the street the day before, but it’s never less than 10.

LAST, WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO COMMENT ON YOUR EXPERIENCES ON YELP?

God, no.