Chapter 5

Chapter Five : The Walk That Was Too Short

By the time Topsy had been with us for a while, taking him for a walk had become part of our routine.

Sometimes I took him.

Sometimes someone else did.

But whenever his leash appeared, Topsy knew exactly what it meant.

His entire personality changed.

The sleepy puppy disappeared.

The quiet puppy disappeared.

Suddenly, we had an extremely enthusiastic creature who believed the outside world had been created specifically for him.

The moment the leash was attached to his collar, he became ready for adventure.

He would move ahead.

Then stop.

Then look back.

Then move again.

It was almost as if he had an itinerary in his head.

Unfortunately, nobody else knew what was on it.

One day, Nani told me to take Topsy for a walk.

I picked up his leash.

Everything seemed perfectly normal.

Topsy came running.

He looked excited.

I attached the leash and we started walking.

It was an ordinary walk.

Nothing unusual happened at first.

He sniffed around.

Looked at things.

Stopped occasionally.

Then continued.

I didn't think much about the distance.

We had gone out for a short walk, and eventually we turned back toward home.

Topsy, however, apparently had a different opinion.

As we got closer to the house, he seemed less enthusiastic.

I continued walking.

He continued walking.

But his energy had changed.

It was subtle at first.

Then, when we were almost home, something completely unexpected happened.

Topsy suddenly jumped.

I barely had time to react.

He reached toward my head and grabbed some of my hair with his mouth.

I froze.

For a second, I had absolutely no idea what was happening.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

We stood there like two people who had just been introduced and were already having communication problems.

"What are you doing?"

Of course, Topsy didn't answer.

He simply looked at me.

I carefully freed my hair.

He seemed perfectly fine.

No anger.

No fear.

Just pure confidence.

I stared at him, trying to understand what could possibly have been going through his mind.

There were several possible explanations.

Maybe he wanted to play.

Maybe he had become excited.

Maybe he was simply being Topsy.

Or perhaps—and this remains my favourite theory—he was protesting.

Maybe, in his mind, the conversation went something like this:

"Excuse me."

"Yes?"

"Are we going home?"

"Yes."

"Already?"

"We've been walking."

"That was not nearly enough."

"We are almost home."

"Then I have no choice."

"No choice to do what?"

CHOMP.

I could imagine him making a formal complaint about the length of the walk.

Perhaps he believed I had cheated him.

Perhaps he thought I was trying to return him home before he had completed his very important investigations.

Whatever the reason, his little stunt became one of those stories that we laughed about later.

At the time, though, I was simply confused.

How could a dog jump almost to the height of my head just to grab my hair?

Topsy had an extraordinary ability to turn ordinary situations into stories.

And his walks became another place where his personality showed itself.

He loved being outside.

He loved freedom.

Whenever we took him somewhere open and my mother said to unleash him for a while, we knew exactly what was coming.

At first, Topsy would stand there.

His head slightly lowered.

Almost as though he were thinking.

Then slowly, he would lift his head.

He would look toward us.

And suddenly—

he would run.

Not walk.

Not jog.

Run.

Like someone had just announced that the world's most important race had begun.

We would laugh and chase after him.

Sometimes I tried to race him.

It was an unfair competition from the beginning.

He had four legs.

I had two.

But somehow, I still believed I had a chance.

I would run as fast as I could.

Topsy would race ahead.

Then, after gaining a comfortable distance, he would look back.

That look.

That ridiculous look.

It was almost mocking.

As if he were saying:

"You're still back there?"

Then he would run even faster.

I would try harder.

He would look back again.

It was impossible not to laugh.

He wasn't simply running.

He was enjoying the fact that we were trying to catch him.

Sometimes he would deliberately slow down.

For a moment, I would think I was finally catching him.

Then he would suddenly speed up again.

He had turned a simple walk into a competition.

And apparently, he had decided that losing was not an option.

Topsy seemed to understand our reactions surprisingly well.

If we laughed, he became more energetic.

If we chased him, he ran.

If we called him, sometimes he came immediately.

Other times, he looked at us as though he had never heard his name in his entire life.

He had selective hearing.

Very selective.

Especially when he was having fun.

But there was something beautiful about watching him run freely.

His body seemed lighter.

His whole personality came alive.

He wasn't thinking about tomorrow.

He wasn't worried about yesterday.

He simply ran.

Perhaps that's one of the things dogs teach us without realizing it.

Sometimes happiness is simply running because you can.

The walks also became important because they brought Topsy closer to the people around him.

He started recognizing familiar paths.

Familiar people.

Familiar places.

He developed his own habits.

He knew when it was time to go outside.

He knew who usually held the leash.

And he especially knew when Nani was nearby.

If Nani was walking behind us, Topsy would repeatedly look back.

Sometimes he would stop.

Wait.

Look again.

Then continue.

It was almost as though he needed to make sure she was coming.

Nani pretended not to notice.

But I noticed.

Topsy had favourites.

And Nani was definitely one of them.

What made it funny was that Nani was also one of the people who scolded him the most.

It didn't matter.

Topsy still loved her.

Perhaps dogs don't keep score.

Perhaps they don't think:

"You scolded me yesterday, so today I shall ignore you."

They simply love.

And Topsy loved his people without keeping records.

He could be scolded in the morning and still follow the same person around in the afternoon.

He could get into trouble and then return five minutes later expecting affection.

He could annoy us and then sleep peacefully beside us as if nothing had happened.

He had a remarkable ability to reset.

And perhaps we needed that ability too.

Because life inside our house with Topsy was never completely calm.

There was always something happening.

A noise.

A chase.

A stolen object.

A suspicious disappearance.

A sudden bark.

A puppy running through the house.

And now, occasionally, a little hair-pulling incident on walks.

I never figured out exactly why he grabbed my hair that day.

Maybe he wanted a longer walk.

Maybe he wanted to play.

Maybe he was simply being mischievous.

I suppose I will never know.

But whenever I remember it now, I can't help imagining Topsy standing there with the most serious expression imaginable, convinced that he had made a perfectly reasonable argument.

And perhaps, in his own strange way, he had.

Because with Topsy, even a short walk could become an adventure.

And apparently, even my hair could become part of the adventure.