Mutt Marching with Pansy Sue

So I've got this dog, Pansy Sue. And she's really cute, if you like fluffy tanks full of poop. And I thought we ought to do something social. Well, actually my therapist thought *I* ought to do something social. He thinks I don't get out enough. He's right, I don't, but not because I'm shy -- it's usually just because people bother me.

One of our local no-kill shelters, Pet Refuge <www.petrefuge.com> has an annual fund raiser called the Mutt March. You get people to give you money, and in return you agree to walk around a park with your dog. I don't really understand that part of it -- I mean, I got people to give me money long before the actual walk, and most of them wouldn't ask for it back if I didn't show up to walk, so what's the point, ultimately, of "marching"? But that's what they do, so I signed up for it.

It was actually kind of fun. And I'm surprised that that fact surprises me. I mean, it's a bunch of dogs with people attached to their leashes. Where's the downside?

Pansy Sue is *not* a good traveler, and she proved it on the way to the park. I've never actually seen someone "blow chunks" before, but she'd just had breakfast and that's really the most accurate way to describe what happened. Doesn't bother Pansy, she just opens her mouth and lets it out. Not so pleasant for me, though. I had to wait until we were in St. Pat's Park and out of the car before I could clean it up; luckily we were parked on the grass, so I just slid the whole nasty mess of it onto the ground for someone else's dog to eat . . .

Pansy saw other dogs. She loves other dogs. She loves people, and chipmunks, and children, and cats, and squirrels, and motorcycles, and ice cubes, and moving garage doors, and -- well, you get the picture. She loves everything. But she *really* loves other dogs.

At first, she was determined to sniff everyone's butt thoroughly -- that's why it took us about 20 minutes to walk the 100 feet from the car to the registration table at the barn. Pretty soon, though, she was completely overwhelmed -- so many butts, so little time. She had to resort to dashing from rear end to rear end, giving a quick ladylike snort, and moving on. She never did get to all the dogs. There was a Newfoundland who was so tall Pansy couldn't reach his butt -- she looked at him with great awe before she sidled away. And there were teeny tiny little dogs who were so minute that she could barely catch a scent; I think she categorized them as cats and dismissed them. And there was one dog who had so much fur on both ends that she had trouble deciding which was the business end. She sniffed front and back, just to cover it all.

Finally we got to the walking part. *That* she could handle easily. Walking on a leash, leading mom down a path? Cake! You could tell she was proud of herself.

She got a lot of attention, too. She wore her little T-shirt; it reads, "Mostly Shar-Pei. Thanks for Asking." People kept telling me how cute she was, and how friendly, and how well-behaved. I dunno if they were blowing smoke, but who cares. I like having my dog admired.

The T-shirt had to come off on the way back to the barn. We took a little detour to the smelly lagoon -- I figured, hey, she's walked her butt off today, let her get stinky in the water if she wants to. But I didn't want to turn the Mutt March into a wet T-shirt contest, so I wrestled it off her (not until she'd laid down in the shallows and gotten it all wet and mucky, however).

We left before the contests following the march. I'd like to think she could have won a prize for best tail wag or something, but she was pooped -- she's not used to that much exercise. So we climbed back into the car and she collapsed in the back seat and slept all the way home.

Well, except for the few seconds halfway home when she woke up and threw up the rest of her breakfast.

Sigh.