Savage Words - A Good Walk Spoiled: Version II

Over the years, the game of golf has been called “A Good Walk Spoiled.”

I’m not sure who came up with that. Mark Twain is sometimes credited with it, but that’s also refuted.

Legendary sportswriter John Feinstein wrote a book in 1996 under the same name: A Good Walk Spoiled, which was about his time covering the PGA Tour.

I’m sure they’re right. I’ve never been much of a golfer. I’ve probably played it maybe a dozen times in my life. I just never got the golf bug, but I have many friends who have.

They can concur that indeed, golf can truly be a ‘Good Walk Spoiled.’

But I’m fairly certain I can add to its meaning. I got a new dog recently, a golden retriever named ‘Winnie.’ She’s three months old. I’ve had her for about a month.

She really is quite adorable, and cute, and cuddly, and blah, blah, blah. You get it. 

But at three months old, I can confirm one other thing she is: a pain in the butt to walk.

And that’s for two reasons. First, as it goes with any new dog, she’s learning the craft – the hobby, if you will - of going for walks. The nice, traditional walk of your dog politely riding your right side, walking in unison with your stride, not pulling, not barking…yea, that’s not happening.

She’s gotten better over the last month, but for every good block with Winnie at my side, there’s plenty where it’s a struggle.

Leaf here, blade of grass there, squirrel here, gust of wind there, another person across the street. Doesn’t matter – Winnie’s attention goes completely to anything but her walk.

The other thing that makes walks tough is – and this sounds like a proud dad moment, but it’s true – that she’s so damn cute. 

Oh…my…God. Can I pet your dog?

Sorry about that. That was just another person approaching Winnie and I on our walk.

It happens all the time, especially, obviously, when we enter a park where there’s a lot of people.

Seriously?! Is that a Golden? Please, can we say hi?

Yes, of course. Come say hi.

Strangers, complete strangers, approach us all the time, looking to pet, to get gnawed on, to get their arms wounded from scratch marks made by the sharpest of nails. 

Hi cutie! Oh my God. Congratulations on adding her to your family.

Sorry. Again, another passerby. 

Winnie doesn’t seem to mind. She sits – surprisingly – and greets people as they walk up. And then it’s immediately to her back, looking for a belly rub.

This might just be the cutest dog I’ve ever seen!

“Thank you, thank you very much,” I say as we slowly walk away.

Our walk that I had hoped would be…

Holy mother of God. Can I pet your dog!?

Yes, yes of course.

Like I was saying, I was hoping our walk could be a couple of miles. But so far, 10 minutes in, and we’re about two blocks.

Hi cute dog!

Again, it’s an immediate crouch to her back, looking for a belly rub.

We finally got going again on our walk after we leave the park, and the enthusiastic Winnie lovers are behind us. We got to an opening, and a fella was about a half a block away. 

Winnie sat down, and just stared at him as he walked closer. 

I kind of tugged at her collar to get us going again. She glanced up at me with a look of, “What? You know he wants to talk to me.”

I finally gave up about 30 minutes into the walk, a walk that was spoiled. But it was spoiled for the very best of reasons.

This dog brings a lot of love, a lot of enthusiasm, a lot of loyalty.

My 15-year-old chocolate lab, Molly, took her final breath last August. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. We used to walk, walk everywhere in Sioux Falls and Brandon.

Winnie’s not there yet, but she’s doing her best. There is one particular park near my house where I used to walk Molly – walked her there every day.

There is a path you follow through the park. It’s an obvious path, one that you’d have to intentionally go out of your way to stray from. But towards the end of Molly’s life, we skipped the final five steps on that path. It’s because they ended in five stairs, and Molly just couldn’t orchestrate them any longer.

So instead of going up those pesky steps, we’d stray from the path, around a series of bushes, and back onto the street.

Every time I take Winnie there now – every time – when we get to that particular spot on the path, she veers right and takes the path Molly and I went on, avoiding the final steps. 

That is so – I dunno, inspiring – to me.

Moments after Winnie’s strange tribute to Molly, she’s back at it…pulling, chasing leaves, rolling around, spoiling the walk.

But not really. I’m sure Molly was the same way at three months of age. And if those were spoiled walks, I’ll take them.

I’m grateful that a dog – a cute one at that – is back in my life. 

If the world were full of Winnies, it would be a much better place, full of spoiled walks that I’ve come to adore.