I think my dog Dexter has been reading Henry David Thoreau. Early each morning, my little dog and I head out for a stroll in the neighborhood. Actually, he prefers more of a saunter, a mindful approach to walking which has deepened my connections to the people and nature around us in this East Dallas area we call home.
In his 1862 essay, “Walking,” Thoreau advocated not for walking or hiking but for sauntering, a way of walking with a mindset of presence rather than productivity–one foot in front of the other, no particular destination in mind. “The walking of which I speak has nothing in it akin to taking exercise, as it is called, as the sick take medicine at stated hours, but is itself the enterprise and adventure of the day.”
Before Dexter, a mixed breed from the SPCA, joined our family over a decade ago, my walks in the hood involved an unfocused forward gaze and earbuds filling my head with many an episode of This American Life. Don’t get me wrong: Ira Glass made great company and his stories always made me think.
But as I was listening, I was disconnected from the world around me.
Then Dexter happened and I was introduced to a new way of walking in the neighborhood. Each morning when he sees me getting dressed, he barks happily – and loudly – until we’re out the door. As we leave, it’s become my habit to say to him, “Let’s go see what there is to see.” We’re off on our daily adventure.
It’s his walk, not mine, so he sets the pace, following his nose. With his 300 million or so olfactory receptors, the neighborhood must be Doggie Disneyland for him. These frequent pauses to sniff and to leave his calling card on fire hydrants and utility poles open up opportunities for me to do my own investigations. If I’m anywhere near flowers, I’ll break out my own 5 million olfactory receptors – Dexter pities me – to discover if it’s fragrant or not. The yellow roses at the lovely Italianate a couple of blocks away win best scent in my book. The magnolia blossoms down the block run a close second. And I can’t resist the simple pleasure of sniffing the wild and prolific honeysuckle covering the alley fence belonging to our friends Rose and Harry.
While Dexter checks out delectable crumbs at construction sites and scent markers left by his fellow canines, I tune in to birds. An admitted bird nerd, I’m delighted that our neighborhood is avian friendly. I spy Cardinals, Blue Jays and Red-bellied Woodpeckers all around us. I hear the loud caws of crows and speculate about their topic of conversation. It’s my turn to pause the walk whenever I see these big, crazy-smart corvids interacting and inspecting objects on the sidewalk.
I’m intrigued by bird behavior and thank Dexter for the slow pace which allows me to witness Blue Jays, another intelligent corvid, mobbing (chasing and apparently cursing at) a Red-tailed Hawk, one that likely flew a little too close to the jays’ nest. And then there are the slightly uncomfortable moments when I see a hawk circling overhead, swooping, then emerging with a mouse that will be breakfast.
While Dexter’s sauntering style has connected me to neighborhood nature, it’s also led me to connect with humans I might not have otherwise. I see many of the same dog walkers each morning – creatures of habit to our creatures, I suppose. Some don’t look up from their phones, some nod or wave or give a smile. Many offer a sincere “Good morning,” with a warmth which does indeed make my morning good.
I look for others I’ve discovered on our walks: the elderly man who sits in his fenced backyard near the church with his elderly dog, who yaps at us as we pass while the man chuckles and nods to us; the couple who radiate happiness and always comment on Dexter’s cuteness; and my friend Louise who lives in the cool purple house a couple of blocks away and cultivates the most beautiful flowers ever. After exchanging dozens of good mornings, we finally met and now greet each other by name.
“The question is not what you look at,” said Thoreau, “but what you see.”
As Dexter and I saunter throughout the neighborhood on our daily adventure, we see its beauty.
Thanks, Dexter, for teaching me how.
