Taking A Walk

by Dwayne Phillips

This is the first of my stories from taking a walk.

I was barked at by countless dogs on the walk. I was chased by a few hundred of these dogs. Dogs are territorial animals. They bark and chase if you enter their territory. It was easy to tell the territories of the dogs I met.

Now there were a lot of dogs who were chained to a large object with a large chain. I have no idea of the boundaries of their territory. Given the looks of most of these chained dogs and the size of the chain, I am happy I didn’t learn such.

The most memorable dog chase was from a large, red bloodhound. Here is a link to Wikipedia’s description of bloodhounds. I like the look of these dogs – always have. Wikipedia describes them as having an “affectionate, gentle, and even-tempered nature.” I am happy with that one.

Anyways, I was in Alabama, it was afternoon, it was sunny, and it was hot. I was walking at my usual pace of three miles an hour when a large, red bloodhound starting baying. “Baying” is the term Wikipedia uses for that sound the bloodhound makes. It is an “arooo-arooo-roooo-rooo-roooot” sound. Like the hound has found the scent of a convict he is tracking or something like that.

The bloodhound trotted out to the side of the road, kept at least six feet away, and bayed at me.

I did my usual smile and started talking to the hound. “Nice dog, nice dog, now go on home.” This is what I always told dogs that came out to the highway to bark at me. My worst fear while walking was a dog chasing me down the highway, standing in the road, and being hit and killed by a truck. Then the owner would run out to the dead dog and cry and blame me for the death of their poor dog, and I would cry, and I would apologize, and everyone would feel terrible (everyone of course but the dog because the dog would be dead after a never-knew-what-hit-him instant death). I am happy to report that my worst fear never came true.

So the bloodhound is out on the side of the road baying at me as only a bloodhound can do. Then the bloodhound walked around me to the broken stripe in the center of the highway. Oh, no, my worst fear is going to come true. How could such a big, slow dog avoid being hit by a logging truck. The hound started chasing me at a walking pace in the middle of the highway.  Every few minutes he would let out one of those “arooo-arooo-roooo-rooo-roooot” sounds. I would give him my “Nice dog, nice dog, now go on home,” lines, and he would ignore me.

He slowly chased me in this manner for a mile. Every few minutes baying at me (I am starting to like writing that word – baying). This was the biggest territory of any dog in 1,100 miles.

All ended well. The hound reached his boundary limit, turned, and walked safely home. I continued down the road one foot in front of the other.