Dog Walk Five: Play Ball

The moment I stepped out of the oppressive dim of the house into the bright afternoon, I could breathe a little easier. It was as though the oxygen in the cool air held the peculiar talent of expanding my lungs just a little further, just enough to remind me what breathing should feel like. I’ve always marveled at this feeling, the immediate healing sensation of embarking on a dog walk. 

The funny thing is, whenever I need it the most, I don’t want to go. When I am at my lowest, the thought of gathering myself into some semblance of order and heading out into the world feels impossible. But one look into Radley’s warm, expectant eyes informs me that I will, in fact, be going on a walk. 

The thing about my dog is, he is almost always right. It would be infuriating, if not for the fact that he uses every accurate intuition and instinct purely to ensure my happiness. His logic, while simple, is spot-on– there is nothing a walk can’t fix. 

This philosophy has been common amongst all of the dogs I have cared for in my life, as though the wisdom had been passed down between dogs for generations, seasoned pets advising the youth through silent gestures and knowing expressions. Every strong emotion and big decision in my life has been processed in the patient presence of a dog. In some of the worst times, the only reprieve was found within the blissful hour of a walk. 

Today’s venture was unremarkable and routine, a purposeful jaunt through the neighborhood to stretch our legs. As we made our way to the bike path that led to icy fields where he could run, Radley glanced back at me, making sure I was still with him. Maybe he could sense the growing distance I had thought only I could feel. I slowed enough to make him stop so I could pat his head. 

Watching Radley assume his trotting rhythm, I was grateful for all of the questions he could not ask, the ones I have now become sure he wouldn’t even if he could. He didn’t offer advice or perspective, nor judge as I underwent every emotion that needed to be felt in that moment. He just maintained a steady pace beside me and gave me the space to think without being alone. 

There is a reason that dogs are considered the true best friends of humans, the old cliché being more of a fact than just a classic phrase. People come and go, make promises and break them, give love and cause pain in equal measure. Humans take trust from its resting place and fumble with it as though it weren’t the most valuable adhesive for human connection. When the rest of the world leaves, a dog stays put. 

When Radley and I reached our destination, a snowy, fenced-in baseball diamond where we liked to play ball, I began throwing for him. He raced across the open space with reckless abandon, leaping and twirling just below the descending ball, trying to line up a clean catch. Despite my initial mood, I felt my face crease into a smile. At that moment, I became sure of the power of a dog at play. There can be no antidepressant or miracle cure as immediate or effective as a dog walk. 

While I started the walk almost begrudgingly, by the end of it, I felt a little lighter, like the whole experience had sped up some emotional metabolism I didn’t know I had. Radley spotted home in the distance and quickened his pace, devouring the slack in his leash. If I let go, I thought, he will just take himself the rest of the way. We paused before crossing the street to our house, and Radley looked back at me again. Hesitant, he took a step back towards me, and met my outstretched hand for a reassuring scratch. I smiled, scratching behind his ears before leading him home.

Don’t worry buddy, I’m still here.