Beautiful morning on the Assebet River Rail Trail.
Fall seven times, get up eight.
— Japanese proverb
Waldo’s limp is improving and now subtle, but still present. He’s soon to be 8 years old, 55 in Waldo years, and, as I can attest through personal experience, is old enough to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous age aches and pains. His limp is now so subtle that I have to look carefully to see it. It bothers me that it’s still present, after around 8 weeks, but it is, albeit slowly, getting better. I’ve been in contact with Waldo’s vet and I’ve decided, for now, to increase his exercise, by increasing the distance we walk, and see if his condition continues to improve, or worsens.
We’ve taken some time off from our long walks due to the heat and Waldo’s limp. But with an improving gait, he is also having an increased desire to romp and exercise. On the short walks we go on, he pulls at the leash, pokes me with sticks to tempt me to play tug-of-war and chases after any soccer ball the local kids leave out on the grass. Cabin fever in the middle of the summer is not pretty. The temperature has now fallen adequately, for a long enough period of time, that we can walk 6 miles on the rail trail in the mornings. So I’ve decided to go back to the rail trail, walk our usual 6-mile route, and see how it goes.
It’s just after 8 AM when we start. The ground is dry, the weeds are tall, thick and green and I hear an occasional Emmy-bird calling somewhere off trail from its catbird seat. Waldo charges up front at the end of his leash and is eager to go. He’s pulling, which is encouraging, because that requires his driving himself (and me) forward with both hind legs. It’s not long, though, and he remembers that, oh yeah, damn, there be bikes in these here woods. He stops, turns to the rear every minute or so, then continues on. There are no bikes, yet, but he knows, from experience, there likely will be. His gait is otherwise normal, as far as I can tell.
There is some scattered burdock just off the trail, fewer than a half dozen bushes, with tall, thick stalks budding large clumps of the godawful spikey balls. They are still green, but, just the same, all too sticky for Waldo’s fine fur. I stop and try to pull one up by the roots, which I’ve been successful at in the past, but to no avail. Maybe I’ll come back with some gardening shears and cut ‘em down. That won’t keep them from coming back in future years, they can grow from the roots left behind, but for this year and next (the burs are biennial), they won’t be a problem. For now, I’ll just have to be on the lookout for ‘em and steer Waldo a good distance away.
We pass fellow denizens, some with dogs, some without, and a few joggers. Many stop and say they’ve missed us and were worried about where we’d gone and why. Some know that we often, when the weather is good, go elsewhere to walk, but they miss seeing us just the same. I tell them about Waldo’s gimp and we share frustration at it being so hot for so long this summer. I call the dogs by name and offer them treats, but I have no idea what the people’s names are. It doesn’t seem relevant, somehow. We’re all out here to enjoy nature, not socialize. Everyone knows Waldo by name, though.
It’s not long and a bike approaches us from the rear. I can tell, without looking, because Waldo starts walking sideways, off to my right and slightly ahead, with his eyes turned toward where we have just been. The bike passes us and Waldo then continues on, eyes to the front, with frequent back glances. If a bike approaches us from the front while Waldo’s attention is directed toward pee-mail, or some other doggy attraction, I’ll call out, “Bike!” and Waldo will jump — ears back, eyes forward and distraction forgotten. He doesn’t bark or growl and never chases after them. His tail isn’t tucked and his hackles are not up. I don’t think he’s afraid of them, he just doesn’t like those fast movers out there without the appropriate guidance, from a well-bred border collie, as to where and how to be. And from the rear? No well-meaning sheep, even those on wheels, should ever be behind him. Don’t they know they should be up front where he can share his wisdom and insight?
We soon come to our turnaround spot and head back to the car. At no time has Waldo slowed, limped, or laid down for rest. His gait has remained normal throughout the walk and has offered no complaint or hesitancy to continue. And he has shown a great deal of appreciation to be, once more, out in the woods. Even if there are a few errant two-wheeled sheep out there.
We get back to the car and Waldo jumps up onto the passenger seat without a glitch. I now will watch him carefully at home, to see if the additional exercise makes his gait any different. I know from personal experience that purely benign soreness and stiffness often follows extended exercise, so some is expected. But if he is clearly worse, we’ll go see an orthopod. If all goes well, though, we’ll be back out here after a day of rest.
For now, it’s back home to water, food and rest.
Out here, you wouldn’t know Waldo has a limp.