Wrong Side of the Street

My daughter lives on a hill in the Castro District of San Francisco.  She shares her life with a boxer/pug mix dog named Mookie.

Mookie has, shall we say, certain steadfast habits.

When you tell him it is time for a walk—no matter where you are in the house—he must run out into the kitchen and loop around the island counter there.  Only after he has accomplished this are you allowed to calmly put on his harness and attach the leash. 

While staying with my daughter, I have been taking Mookie for walks on the street.   His everyday walk takes him down the inclined sidewalks to Market Street and then back up again on the same route. 

What this actually means is Mookie zigzagging all over the sidewalk.  He needs to check out all of his favorite spots to mark with his maleness.  A certain planter by the big steps.  Three big trees and one little one.  The ratty old telephone pole as you approach Market Street.  The retaining wall with flowering plants weeping down.

The idea is to let Mookie stop at all these places.  Maybe let him circle a little before he hoists his leg.  After walking him a couple times, I got the hang of it and turned into a pretty good human for him.

On a more recent walk, however, I made a mistake.  On the way back up the hill, upon making the final turn onto Helen’s street, I turned up the opposite side of the street.  I was thinking I might enjoy a different view for the last leg of our walk.

Mookie froze solid as a block of lake ice.

He anchored there.

“You don’t want to try something new?” I asked.

I tugged a little.

Mookie would not have it.

Shrugging, I stepped off the curb to cross back over to our normal path.  Mookie unfroze and began pulling me toward his number one sidewalk planter.

Good human.

—Mitchell Hegman