Jonathan C. Lewis
Author and Artist
A Dog’s Life
A fictional travelogue; four minutes to read.
Dear Travel Journal,
I had a lovely walk today. Magellan and me. For hometown sightseeing, he’s my favorite traveling companion.
Everything Magellan enjoys is here in Davis, California. It’s his top vacation spot.
Within the city limits, there are 399 acres of parkland, 38,465 city-owned trees, miles of dog walking paths (shared with cyclists and 70,000 potential other dog owners). There’s no census catalogued by canine breed, let alone one for mutts like Magellan, but he has lots of dog friends. Doggie dates at the off-leash dog park.
Shops with sidewalk water bowls make downtown a favorite destination. Pet stores sell his favorite dog food. Greenbelts bedecked with metal sculptures of frolicking dogs honor him.
Cats, geese, ducks and a zillion squirrels get Magellan’s tail wagging. Occasionally we stumble upon a flock of wild turkeys. They are too clueless to be amusing, but too combative to ignore. Magellan clears our way with a frenzied, tireless work ethic.
Magellan has a special fondness for the water sprinklers at Sycamore Park . Even a human can smell the mist as the sprinkler heads pulse in continuous rotation. Shush, shuush, shuuush. Magellan has never said so, but I’m sure he thinks that snapping at water plumes is hysterically funny. Real slapstick.
On an autumn day when the sky is a dull, dirty white, before the rains muddy the backroads and after the summer heat has receded, Magellan and I walk for hours—he mostly runs—along the edges of walnut groves and olive orchards. Magellan loves old smelly barns so I wait patiently while he checks them out.
I’m lanky with a long, steady stride. Magellan has a bounding gait. I follow a straight line, he follows his zigzagging heart.
His concentration never wanders ahead to tomorrow’s worries or drags behind remembering yesterday’s mistakes. Whether ball chasing, walking by my side, galloping or running in circles, sniffing at tree stumps or gobbling his food, he is infallibly focused. Four-legged mindfulness.
Magellan takes a special delight in being a dog. Loud slurps of cool water. Boisterous barking at any intruder disguised as our mailman. Snoring on the frayed carpet at my feet. Gnawing bones from the butcher shop. Doggy Zen.
If the weather calls for gloves and a woolen scarf, Magellan shows up in a fur coat. When my calves beg me to sit down, when I’m ready to turn towards home, Magellan nags me about my cardiovascular health.
Magellan never mentions it, but he and I are aging friends. We repeat the same jokes without letting on that either of us knows. Overlooking my bipedal inability to run faster, Magellan accepts me as I am.
Out beyond the edge of town, rows of corn stand tall, green, lush. Today Magellan is pretending he is a great hunter—stalking endlessly and without result the dangerous, illusive and wily jack rabbit.
Returning to my side with his tongue hanging out, his pleasured, easy panting lets me know that he is in no hurry to head home. Plenty of time in a dog’s life to follow the scent of another rabbit or check out the newest gopher hole.
Checking my watch, I decide to reschedule my cardiologist appointment. The test results can wait.
