My Backyard

I like being in the great outdoors. When the sun is shining, all I can think about is being outside in the fresh air and cool breezes of my backyard. When I first came to live here, no one would let me go outside for very long, and someone always had to come along with me whenever, and wherever, I wanted to go. In the very beginning, they only trusted me to walkabout in the front yard, and I had to keep all four of my feet on the grass. If it ever looked like I was headed towards the street, or if I glanced over in the direction of our sidewalk, I was stopped in my tracks by an ever-so-gentle-yet-firm tug on my pretty pink collar. Stuck in one small area, I came to know our front yard very well, met every single blade of grass personally, and I can tell you about every nook, cranny, and rock that it’s made of. I know which set of branches make up the pink azalea bush, can point you to where the pretty purple rhododendron sits, and I know how many lily-of-the-valley plants came up in their bed that is planted in front of the brick wall that makes up the front of our porch.

These outdoor visits were always very quick, no time wasted on meandering around or checking out anything interesting in my neighborhood. Each time I went out they joined one another, the Big Grownup and She-Who-Is-In-Charge, both of them busy keeping an eye on my whereabouts and what I was doing. Sometimes while we were out they would let me take some time to lie down on the grass, stretch my brindled frame out straight toe to tail, gave me a few minutes so I could watch the kids playing around outside.

As I got older, I was allowed to look around a bit more as they let me walk past Nana’s house and visit Grampy’s yard. It felt good to feel the different textures on the pads of my feet, from grass to concrete to tar. There are lots of things to sniff along that short distance between our house and Grampy’s, and sometimes my snout got the best of me, made me stop and smell the invisible tracks only I could tell were on our path. More often than not I could smell squirrels and chipmunks on this route, detect a bunny or two as well. My human companions occasionally would stop for a minute or two with me, let me finish my investigation of our trail to Grampy’s house, but more often than not they would tug on my leash, tell me to keep moving.

Now that I am more grown up I have to say that I am the boss of our walks around the neighborhood, that I am in charge of when, where, and how long we stay outside. They still come along together on these trips, the Big Grownup and She-Who-Is-In-Charge, take turns strapping my leash onto their wrist so the other can take a break from our attachment. Each time we leave our back door we make a stop in the front yard, because I like to take a quick look up and down our street, keep an eye on all the kids who live in my neighborhood. Sometimes friends will stop and talk with us, admire how big I am getting and mention how beautiful my brindled fur has become.

As we continue down the sidewalk on our way to Grampy’s house, I take all the time I want, turn over every leaf in my path, and sometimes meander into the street to sniff a rock or two before I get tugged back onto my footpath. I stop at the top of the driveway and breathe in the aroma from the pretty roses that climb Grampy’s lamppost, poke my snout inside the orange day lilies that sprout along the fence, scratch my nose in the ivy leaves that serve as ground cover underneath Grammy’s dogwood tree. Depending on my mood, I like to walk my companions over to Grammy’s backyard garden, take my time to sniff whatever particular flower she has planted that happens to be in bloom that day. Grammy has some great iris plants that smell just like purple popsicles, and they are the first thing you notice as you step under the white arbor that invites you into her space. Grammy also has some sunny yellow iris’s, one or two plants of light pink peonies, beautiful white and purple sweet peas, and my personal favorite— lots and lots of tall pink phlox, just like the ones that grow in my own backyard. There are honeysuckle bushes in this part of the yard too, along with a tousled bed full of lilies of the valley, and a few more orange daylilies that round out her garden on the other side of the yard. Some of the grass is very tall here, and it tickles my toes as I sniff from one blossom to the next. I love it here, and so do my human companions, so we are never in a hurry to continue our expedition around our fragrant neighborhood.

When I finally decide it is time to head back to our very own floral backyard, the Big Grownup and She-Who-Is-In-Charge follow behind me, let me lead them in whatever direction I choose. Whatever path we take, we always end up arriving together, happy to have shared the outing alongside one another. I may be a feisty little Tennessee Plott Hound from Texas, but I still know how to stop and smell the flowers.