Moving from an acre in the country, surrounded by fields and forests, to a city condominium never really bothered me or Mr. Hot. I’ve always said, “I’ll take the country or the city…but please don’t let me be forever stuck in the ‘burbs.” “Concrete”, says Mr. Hot.
One thing that really worried us, though, was the dog’s reaction to going from unfettered freedom in the great, grassy outdoors to cement. And scheduled walks. Poopin’ and peein’ while on a leash in Chicago simply ain’t like running around a 40,000 square foot backyard to find just that RIGHT patch to kill hike a leg over.
Plus, with his burfin’ at every sound…and having people living above us – well, we considered leaving him with the family that bought our house. We didn’t want to lose him, but – on the other hand – wouldn’t it be cruel to expect an old dog (he’s 7) to learn new tricks?
We obviously didn’t leave him. He’s here, in a neighborhood filled with as many dogs, it seems, as people.
(Aside…there are a LOT of people around here that are petrified!!! of dogs…we’ve seen old ladies trying to climb trees or scale fences just to keep from walking past him…he, on the other hand, ignores everyone. /Aside)
He gets at least four walks every day – starting at 5:30 a.m. – long walks down the two-flat lined streets or along the main thoroughfare. On Sunday mornings, he feasts on food dropped by the Saturday night revelers heading home.
And he has friends – regular butt-sniffing friends that he’s met in the five months he’s been a “dawg” in the city. Big dog is his favorite.
—- He hates, however, the chihuahuas. They scare him. —-