Don't call us retrievers or, worse, hounds. We are in the working group. We are shepherds.
We left our respective animal shelters -- North Shore Animal League and Elmsford -- when we felt the institution no longer had anything to offer us. We took up with Bacon Lady and the Tall Smoky-Smelling Man, found their couch was a place where a dog (or two) could really get some thinking done.
For a few years we stood around Rye Town Park in lower Westchester, making small talk, walking in bored circles. We had the nagging suspicion there was more to life. We took this frustration out on our friends, for which we are slightly sorry. One by one they were stitched up, and returned to the park.
As for us, we left the manicured lawns of Rye Town Park for the woods, the great outdoors of Westchester. We have found twisting, rambling, surprising trails that have gladdened our old cardiopathic hearts; we've wondered, at the same time: where are all the other dogs of Westchester? Wouldn't they also enjoy these trails? Because in our heaving, panting chest cavities -- in the chest cavities of every domestic canine -- beat the hearts of wolves.
So, here's to those hearts! Get your fat ass out there, as we have ours. Hike a little. We'll show you where.
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