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Telegraph Leash

I’ve heard many times, and have seen it in action, that humans send signals to their dog via the leash. If we are nervous, angry, happy, whatever, our general state of being will travel down the leash to the dog. He’ll pick up on our every emotion, every tick, every change in our tone of voice.

So why, oh why, on this cold and miserably drizzly spring morning, did Danny not pick up on the one signal I was sending down the leash as clearly as an electric impulse on a telegraph line: poop already! We had to wander and pause while he searched and sniffed for the right place to do what he does every morning. Usually I’m very happy that Danny doesn’t like to poop in his back yard; I have nothing to clean up before mowing. But today? When fat drops of rain were running off the dogwood blossoms and spattering loudly on my hood? I could have used a quicker pooping protocol from my dog.

Danny, post-poop, pining for sunnier days.

Danny, post-poop, pining for sunnier days.

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