All You Need

Joe and Rudy walked our neighborhood most afternoons. Joe usually in flannel and tweed, his stooped progress steadied with help of a cane. Rudy at his feet taking ten steps to Joe’s one, matching the measured cadence in spritely rhythm; the perennial energy of a Yorkie belying his age. Truth be told, I don’t know exactly how old either of them was, but guessed they had spent the better part of the last score of years together.

The time of Joe and Rudy was about the time we got Oliver. From the beginning, our daily forays with Ollie mimicked Joe and Rudy’s path. I sometimes watched the two elders from behind, the haphazard ball of puppyhood at the end of my leash a glaring contrast to their dignified roving. I wondered if there would ever be a day when we would forego the leash like Rudy and Joe. Rudy’s only priority was to be near Joe, period. When Joe stopped, so did Rudy, and when he resumed, Rudy did likewise, always untethered but never more than a snuffle away. Such single-minded loyalty in a dog was impressive to me, and I wondered what it took to get to that point, where a walk around the village in each other’s good company was of singular enjoyment and the only goal.

Years have passed since then, and Ollie is nearly twelve. We’ve been on scads of adventures in countless places, but our walks around the neighborhood remain mostly unchanged. Same path, same general time of day and twice on most. Our conservative calculations log us close to 3,000 miles around the circuit in Ollie’s lifetime, and we’re still adding to that number – walking Joe and Rudy’s way.

And guess what?

We don’t really use the leash anymore.

It seems now, that a walk in each other’s good company is all we need.