Dancing the Dog

My dog and I love to walk along the quiet streets of our subdivision; he sniffs the shoulders of the paved road inhaling every molecule of information from every other dog, pedestrian, and car that has passed by. He usually finds a “sweet spot” and rolls, joyfully kicking his legs in the air and grunting…an activity I have affectionately named “piggling”. I usually walk along quietly, enjoying the blue skies, bird songs from the nearby trees, and wait for him to do his “doggy things” as I keep an eye out for oncoming traffic or other dogs. My dog was a “rescue” from a fighting-dog “puppy mill”, and he is very antisocial when encountering anything out of the ordinary on our solitary times together.

That’s when I noticed the new neighbor that had moved in down the block. He left his house and was about a half a block away; far enough away that I figured my dog wouldn’t see him as a threat and begin barking. Then the old man began dancing in the street, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. At first it was a bit of a skip and a hop, his arms outstretched as if exercising his chest. Then he began to sway, side to side, arms coming together as he swirled and spun, head back, in a joyous ballet pose, finally leaping and landing, bending again sideways in a strange marriage of modern dance and the elegance of Barishnikov.

The dog finally noticed him and looked up at me as if to say, “Is he okay?” We both looked back, and the man was staring at us...caring not a bit that he had a befuddled audience to his antics as he continued his joyful auditions for Swan Lake, the Jets from West Side Story, or Dancing With the Stars. His imaginary partner was spinning and swaying by his side in an unheard rhythm, as they moved farther away from us down the block. Suddenly they turned, dancing their way back along the asphalt stage; cleverly leaping over the ever-present potholes in our subdivision, twirling and moving with the wind in the trees, the shadows and sunshine making their costumes at once elegant and primal. Their show was not for us, their pitiful audience of two, one with her jaw agape at this amazing freedom of expression; the other with his jaws full of his favorite “squeaky toy”, waiting to take cues from me whether this strange development down the street constituted a real threat or just merely a passing interest.

As the dancers continued their performance on the empty street, I stood in awe of the total abandonment of inhibitions (and perhaps sanity) that I was witnessing as they finally reached the gravel of their driveway. The old man bowed to his partner, kissing her invisible hand; bowed toward the street, and slowly, gracefully, stepped backward into his carport, blowing kisses to his perceived standing ovation. The garage door of a curtain came down ending any chance of an encore.

The dog and I looked at each other again in confusion before a smile played at the corner of my mouth. He dropped his squeaky toy, and I immediately grabbed it in delight and threw it as high into the air as I could. With a gleam in his shoe-button black eyes, he watched the toy bounce and roll onto the pavement...and we were “off”! Running, twirling, laughing, and spinning, we chased the rolling, plastic green frog down the street. I retrieved the ugly toy and threw it onto the shoulder, into the bushes, skipping my way down the street to catch up to my canine friend coming out from under the hedge with the prized frog in his mouth. We continued the game past our own driveway, then turned and headed back running, spinning, and laughing along the way. Finally we got to our own carport, loving the newfound enthusiasm of just playing together in the middle of the street, in front of neighbors peering from behind closed curtains, not caring about anyone's judgments as we thoroughly enjoyed each moment with each other. I loved the feeling of being graced with another beautiful day on this crazy planet...and made a firm resolve: from now on I will no longer be just “walking the dog”...I will be dancing the dog.