Ordinary

Thea and I loaded up in the Jeep to hit up our campus route. This loop gives us a little bit of everything and changes throughout the seasons - campus energy, vet school smells, a nice climb, Lake Mendota access. 

This walk makes a perfect weeknight unwind or a super weekend jumpstart…and parking in Lot 60 is free after 4:30 and on weekends, which helps the cause. 

Normally, we turn off University Ave onto U Bay, but before we make that turn Thea knows what’s up. Face out the window, sniffer goes wild.

Today was different, though. A train was coming down the tracks while a family of three sandhill cranes was making their way down the parkway. One crane flew off in fright while an adult and baby crane crossed University Ave to the median. Now, two panicked cranes were outside the Jeep window trying to figure out the safest path forward. I saw humans being really good, stopping traffic. Sitting through a light cycle while the birds navigated really shitty options. 

I wondered what Thea saw. 

We get to the usual lot, with anticipation whimpering beginning as we make the turn at the tennis complex. Thea always checks the scene for friends. Familiar smells. It’s a common place for us to meet up with others. 

This is one of my favorite places to walk because we have options. I scan the Howard Temin bike path to assess how busy it is. The campus streets are a great alternative when the path is hopping. 

We gear up. Hiking with Thea is uncomplicated here. Crossbody leash. Treat pouch. Poop bags stashed. Water? Probably. Even weather in the seventies feels warm when you’re hairy.

The light pole base is the first stop, every time. For all the dogs. A sniff. A pee. A full-on crime scene investigation. It all depends on who's around. 

We head along the band practice field and soccer complex. The grass is interesting, but not all-encompassing. The bunnies, on the other hand.  

Steam vents line the street and are covered by brick and cement, making for a ceremonial parkour platform. A treat here, a trot to the next. Another treat here.

The hike goes on like this for 3.5 miles with guaranteed stops. First, the lake: just a quick walk-in, maybe shag a few floaty treats. When the weather and energy suit, she engages in a full sugar cookie experience - roll in sand, get wet, roll in the sand again. 

Then, we hit up the volleyball courts - more sand. But here, she zooms, whipping her booty around, bright eyes, fluffy ears, “let’s do this” play bows. Grrrrowl. Baby werewolf. 

Thea didn’t used to feel comfortable playing, so her willingness to get bitey, sassy, and even wild with me is heart-melting. 

And it always hits me. That this is more than a walk. It’s not just clocking miles. It’s comfort and predictability and just enough. 

When fall rolls in, the campus comes to life. The college kids settle in. Some stop us because they’re missing their pets at home. Thea has no interest in filling this gap in their lives - she’s polite, but distant. We’ve had a few kids walk with us, which always piques her interest. She really seems amused by the ones who are walking towards us and not on their phones. She’s all about that eye contact. 

This route, this predictable stroll, built a lot of that confidence. Even when something goes awry: a robot delivering food. A student hauling a hockey bag. Meeting a new dog friend for the first time.

I didn’t expect this essay to take this route, but I lost two of my dog friends in the last week. In some teary moments, I thought about the very, totally, utterly ordinary interactions with these dogs and people. 

The micro-interactions, like Seren’s gentle nudge from her perfectly positioned, treat-pouch height muzzle. Buddy’s butt scratch requests. And observations, like watching a Social Club dog settle in and find their space. Like 10 reactive dogs and their people making an incredibly professional pass with another dog. Dogs taught me to pay more attention to the ordinary.

Don’t get me wrong, I love a big adventure with big experiences. I love tracking things and challenging myself, but I am eternally grateful for my dog friends, because without them, I fear I would have otherwise continued to create a hierarchy around what outings count, while dismissing others as too ordinary to matter. And then, what would I have missed? 

And, I think the answer is delight. 

I would have missed my clients sharing soft affection, a smile or a lingering look, with their dogs. I would have missed them bonding over Taylor Swift lyrics, jobs, families. I would have missed their dogs doing their own bonding over scents, squirrels, and discussing whose people have the best snacks, I assume. 

I would have missed my dogs all strolling past a horde of students with shiny instruments producing a wall of sound and marching right at them. Unfazed. I mean, tell me you’re a local dog without telling me you’re a local dog. 

So, after the volleyball courts, we head up Observatory Drive. The sky opens up, Thea’s nose floats on a light breeze off the lake. We stop at the bench at the top of the hill for water. She knows this is coming before I even reach for the water jug. She sits and waits for the pour. 

The return trip takes us around Bascom Hall and down the steps. Thea pauses at the top of each set of stairs. I smile at her, remembering working on this when she was just a puppy. The bunnies always greet us at the bottom of the steps. She’s ready. I’m ready. Today, she chose cookies over chaos.

We wander down Agriculture Drive, toward the vet school. The smells get more exciting. In her younger days, she’d make a play to head back to the volleyball courts or onto the bike path to get in the lake. Today, we just carry on. Sniff. Observe. Wander. 

She walks next to me. Slack line. Frequent eye contact. I think about how much fun we had building these leash skills. She is a sidekick through and through. 

Back at the car, we do a final drink before she hops into the backseat. Some days she likes a boost. Today, she’s got it herself. 

Oh. and the cranes reunited.