Walkin' the dawgs...

We set off this bright and dewy morning to air my friends' doglets. The air was lovely and cool as we drove past the zoo and turned up their street. I found the spare keys and...could not get the door open. She had told me there was a trick to it, but...was it hard left, or hard right? The dogs were alerted, and I could hear them scuffling around eagerly next to the door, so I breathed deeply and persisted with the door lock. It did at last give way, and I zipped in, whisking the little creatures away from the open door. The older larger dog was easily collared; the younger, smaller, evidently TERRIFIED puppy had to be snared, clamped between my knees as I struggled to fasten the little collar attached to his leash around his tiny neck. He screamed and leapt away. I halfway decided to just take the older one, who was shaking in sympathetic consternation, but hunted the little guy down and managed to collar him. Then we headed outside, got my mother out of the car, and started our so-called walk. Such a tangle of leashes, and the kind that automatically run out, as if you have fish hooked on a line; it took me a few minutes to figure out how to retract them, and they worked differently from one another. Poor Little Dude kept looking back at me fearfully, while his older brother skittered here and there, sniffing, peeing, and finally, defecating, as was our goal. Alas, I had forgotten the poop bag in the confusion of getting outside. At one point, I had to short-leash the older one in order to untangle them; he commenced with an alarming choking sound that persisted for a couple of minutes. I was certain I had broken his wind pipe, but after some soothing sounds from me, he stopped. Little Dude evidenced a desire to go home, while Older Brother could have cheerfully gone all day on a walkabout. I realized as we approached the door that now I would have to unlock it again, this time holding on to the dogs on their leashes. All went well, luckily, except for the little guy getting under my feet, and me stepping on him, and him screaming again; we got back into the house, I quickly got their leashes off, and it was Reward Time, treats for all. Little Dude then gave one more terrified backward glance at me, and retreated to the far end of the living room.
Later their mistress called me to check on my dog walking experience. She was on her cell phone and nearing her home on foot. I told her about the screaming and the choking, and heard her go into her house; she then began speaking endearments to the dogs, and I asked that she confirm neither was dead or dying or bleeding. They were fine! Someone else is handling the dog airing duties tomorrow, but I would have done it if she had asked.
Back to Bowen's The Death of the Heart. What a fine piece of writing it is.