Ella's Wagon Rides

After Robert injured his ankle, Ella's wagon rides abruptly stopped.  When we first started carting her around the neighborhood, Robert and I agreed it was a two-person job - one person to tug and the other to keep an eye on her.  During her first several wagon rides, she was prone to standing up whenever we rolled over uneven terrain.  Having a spotter to help her settle back down was vital to instilling a sense of comfort and security in her feelings about the wagon.  Robert and I also took turns pulling the wagon.  Robert took the surprisingly difficult downhills and I took the uphills, which required brawn yes, but definitely less patience and control than the downhills.  Our wagon rides were a testimony to our harmonious teamwork and friendship, something I have no qualms bragging about.  We grew to love and look forward to the wagon rides.  We even began to have a new "problem."  Ella, who could usually make it down the street before growing tired, would attempt to climb in the wagon even before we got out of the driveway.  She no longer stood up at uneven patches, and would settle herself into the wagon with her face titled into the wind.

Once we knew Robert was going to need surgery and have a long recovery, I sat down with him and proposed a crazy idea.  I would take Ella out on my own.  I agreed to only go around the block and if I needed anything, would call him.  I was a little surprised when he agreed.  I was also a bit worried.  I love my sugar lump of a dog and as a worry wart, just knew I was going to tip her on our first solo wagon ride.

I was wrong.  Our first trip around the block was such a success, on our second trip I decided to take her down two streets before coming back home. For the third trip I decided we would go all the way to the market, which is across the street from a park with a poopy-bag station.  Having two puppies pretty much means we're always picking up poop, especially now that I'm leash training them, so a poopy-bag station is pretty much a holy pilgrimage in this family.  Walking to a poopy-bag station has always been a common walk for us, and we tie several to the wagon, leashes, or whatever else we happen to have with us.

If Ella and I could make it to the closest poopy-bag station, we could do anything.

I knew tugging her around in her wagon without switching with Robert was going to be hard work, but as an athletic person, I dismissed those concerns and rolled my eyes at my weenie thoughts.  What concerned me most was making sure she was comfortable, happy, and not going to make any sudden movements.  

What I didn't realize is that no matter how much tennis a person plays, it's not the same thing as pulling an 80 pound golden retriever around. Additionally, I certainly didn't want anyone who saw me to think I was anything but thrilled to lug around a dog in a wagon.  I found myself praying silently while loudly praising Ella whenever we went down a steep incline and smiling maniacally at passerby when I heaved her up a tough hill.  It wasn't just physically exhausting, it was also mentally exhausting, and I wasn't having a good time.  About halfway to the poopy-bag station I realized I was using up precious effort to convince others I wasn't this crazy person dragging a giant dog around.

But that's exactly what I was.  I looked at Ella and asked her if she was having a good time.  She gave me this look like, "shut up lady and let me enjoy my ride."  So that's what I did.  If I felt exhausted I paused in someone's driveway while standing there looking exhausted.  I stopped smiling maniacally and took more deep breaths.  I reminded myself to switch hands and nodded hello to others like I do when I'm out jogging or walking sans dog in wagon. I turned the handle to the side and wedged my sneakers under the tires when my arms needed a break or a rock wall beckoned me to inspect some unruly vine.

We made it to the poopy-bag station and headed home.  On the way home I looked back, ready to give Ella a bit of praise, but her eyes were closed, her face relaxed, and I realized the only thing she needed from me was a steady hand to maneuver her over the smoothest sections of the sidewalk and a foot to kick away any twigs that might bump her awake.  More importantly, I knew I could give her these things.  I smiled so hard I nearly lost myself in it.  I'm sure I looked a bit crazy, but I had a whole wagon full of reasons not to give a damn.