His Journey Out the Door

The chair beneath me lets out an obnoxious grunt as I stand up.

I tread lightly across the room, my toes just kissing the floor.

Thump, slap.

Hopeful eyes follow me.

The carpet slithers away and gives way to hardwood floor, its stiffer cousin.

As I approach the closet, I realize my secret is out:

delighted barking has filled the room.

I shake out a long leash, and hear scampering nails on the floor:

barking has become a long, joyous squeal.

“Riley! Come here, boy!”

To him, my call is that of a general yelling “ten-hut.”

He darts at me and clumsily extends his front paws in a too-little attempt to slow down.

He’s learned to stand still as I connect the leash to his collar, but

his unruly tail betrays his excitement.

Ready to explore the neighborhood that has changed mountains in the last three hours, Riley bolts to the door.

I shove open the whining door, and Riley races out, nose to the ground, sniffing the green, green grass.