Two days in a row, a dachshund has followed me along my jogging route. He (a boy, as evidenced by his mighty pair of dangling rear appendages) never barks at me or nips at my heels. He just keeps close by, occasionally completing a swift circle around me. It’s almost as if he’s guarding me, or making sure I keep away from something.
Not being a dog person, it confuses me. I know I smell like cats and cigarettes and hobo vodka. I couldn’t possibly be appealing to any dog, especially such a well-groomed and mannered one.
I think he lives on one of the farms that border my housing complex (Tyner Ranch, ha!). He must, because the numerous squirrels and roadrunners that flit to and fro in the area don’t bother him in the slightest. Any of the dogs inside Tyner Ranch (ha!) would have lost their minds immediately at the sight of so tasty a treat.
So, I now appear to have a jogging buddy. I’ve thought of calling him Winston Cromartie Jiménez Jr. You know, just so I have something to call him other than “doggie.”