Cut the cord

or lose the leash, whatever.

When my neighbour Roslyn told me about a fantastic trail I could pick up on 33rd and follow under the Keswick bridge out to Pacific, I was enchanted, and had to sniff around, Eska in tow (it goes without saying). I've now done it twice, and was amazed both times at how friendly Hampden-Remington dog owners are compared to Guilford-Roland Park pet parents. I should have figured, but didn't.

Saturday, before my and Brian's full-day vacuum dramas, Eska and I met Murphy Stout, Stella Artois, and their charming owner at 2917 Keswick. We stopped and chatted for a while, Eska taunted by the unattainable appearance of the adorable Pit Bull-Hound and gorgeous Belgian Shepherd (respectively) behind the glass door protecting them - but not us - from the rain. As is customary among dog-crew, I didn't actually get 2917's name. But he told me about every possible green space within the vicinity (including some without it) I could take Eska to, and hoped we might cross paths again, perhaps in an enclosed green space (when construction on the park was finally done) so our dogs could play. We thanked him for his suggestions, then continued on our way.

This morning, Eska stopped at 2917 and tried to crawl behind its welcoming glass door through the one-inch slot between it and the stoop to say hello to her new friends.

One street over, she made another.

Still on Keswick, around 30th or 31st, there is a children's playground surrounded by ample field. I have taken Eska here before, and brought her here again today to throw a ball around, so she'd be pooped and prepared for another half-day in her crate. No sooner had I put her on her retractable leash, than she'd leaped toward something to me still imperceptible.

Oliver, the Bulldog-Shepherd had crept up on us silently, but not unmarkedly: he was running at full speed, and Eska decided to follow.

What ensued was an at times embarrassing, at times funny, but mostly just *active* session of four-way dog-play; as Eska and Oliver rolled around within the confines of Eska's retractable leash, Theresa (Oliver's owner) and I chatted and surveyed our puppies' activity, sometimes joining in to give them more slack.

Delightful.

I was very tempted indeed to let Piccina off her leash, because it seemed like with both Theresa and I there, she could get into precious little trouble. Still, I couldn't bring myself to ignore the nagging voice in my head that kept insisting, "But what if she runs away?"

I trust her plenty. I do. I'm just not sure I trust myself to have the calmness and presence of mind to deal with a fugitive dog, should her flight ever, indeed, come about.

Perhaps it's time to cut the cord?
But what if it's too soon?