This is what I know:

Sometimes it’s not the huge problems that get us down, it’s the accumulation ofmany successive small ones.

Also what Iknow:

One dog, oneleash = easy peasy.

Two dogs, twoleashes = a tad more challenging (especially if Dog Two is still learning how wedo this, how we walk on one side of Mom, how we don’t pull out in front of herand suddenly slam on the brakes or back up into her because, while it may amusethe neighbors to see her fumble and nearly fall and dance around to regain herbalance, it is not—it is never—the correct thing to do).

Two dogs, twoleashes + one bag of poop = a bit of a struggle. Does the stinky bag go in myright hand, the one not holding the leashes? It’s 40 degrees, though, and I wasplanning on keeping at least one hand warm in my pocket (because adding glovesto this leash-training scenario—and I do have gloves—really warm, reallyexpensive gloves—is just out of the question). Or do I try to hold two leashesand the stinky bag of poop in one hand?

Did I mentionthere is also wind? And that’s it 5:30a.m.? And dark? So yeah, it’s thepre-dawn hour, and we’ve had high winds for days, and the gusts are blowing DogOne’s little floppy ears up so that every few minutes one of them folds over,exposing her ear canal, and the wind chill makes it I-don’t-know-how-cold-but-way-way-too-coldand I know how my ears would feel (but I’m wearing a knit cap plus ahood), so I stop each time to flop her ear back down to protect her tiny earcanal. But we’re training, see? So that means this:

“Maya, wait.Good girl. Sit. Good girl. Maudie, sit. Wait. Good girl. No—wait. Good girl.”

When they areboth seated and waiting and I have set the bag of poop down and fixed Maya’sear and picked up the bag of poop and secured both leashes (with very cold,very stiff hands), we begin again. Moving forward.

Then Dog Twosees a bunny.

Sigh. I amgrateful that I did know that this little cattle dog will chase any and all smallanimals running—or flying. Had I seen her in action, I would have dismissed heras untrustworthy around The Queen Feline, and I would not have adopted her.Whew. Ignorance is bliss.

Not in thismoment, though. In this moment, as I try, with freezing fingers, to hold herand Dog One and the bag of poop, ignorance is… well, it’s clearly evident.

As the bunny goesinto statue mode and Dog Two rears and lunges and jumps at the end of the leashlike a Blue Marlin on the line, I whisper, sotto voce, “Maudie! No chase!” That’sas loud as I can correct her, of course, because I do like my neighbors and afew of them like me and it is 5:45a.m. by now.

When thebunny’s brain has finally shifted from “Freeze!” to “Flee!” and it dives undera bush, we can move forward again, Dog Two still hypervigilant, though,searching every yard for the rascally…. Well, you get the picture.

It’s aboutthe time when I fully regain control, priding myself on being an adequate packleader, Dog One and Dog Two trotting nicely along, the bag of poop swingingback and forth with their stride, my right hand just starting to warm up afterthe bunny encounter, that my nose starts to run.

If you’vehiked or dined with me, you know this: If it’s cold, my nose runs. I am neverwithout a pocket pack of tissues because, if the air is cold, if the AC in therestaurant is set below 72 degrees, my nose is running.

Here’s theexistential dilemma in this scenario: How long would you keep walking beforestopping to blow your nose? I mean, you see what this entails—both dogsstopping, sitting, the bag of poop set down again, a tissue extracted, the missionexecuted….

How longwould you keep walking, snot beginning to flow to the edges of your nostrils?(Okay, sorry for the visual there, but can you feel how uncomfortable it is?)

I go another30 feet, then with an exasperated sigh, it’s this again:

“Maya, wait.Sit. Good girl. Maudie… Maudie… no, sit. Sit. Wait. Good—no, sit. Wait.”

Finally, we’removing forward again. For a half mile, down the back side of our loop, aroundthe corner, and around the next, we are golden—the wind is at our backs, thereare no bunnies, and my nose isn’t running.

Until we turnthe corner for home. We are six houses from home when my nose begins to runagain, and I am eyeing the distance, and considering my options, and that’swhen we see—okay, I don’t, but Dog Two sees—a small animal dart acrossthe street.

Whining andyipping, she bolts to the end of the leash, and because I didn’t see thecritter, I wasn’t ready for it, and I almost—almost—drop the leash. Which inthis case would have been very, very, very bad. Why? Because as soon as it allregisters—the small animal running, the heavy scent in the air—I realize thatthe critter she wants to chase is a skunk.

Holy smokes.

In TheLion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, Aslan tells Edmund, “We can never knowwhat would have happened.”

No, wecannot. But I have a pretty good idea in this case what would havehappened had I not held onto my silly little cattle dog. But I did. I held ontoher all the way back to the house and in the door, whereupon I immediatelygrabbed a tissue and blew my nose and exhaled loudly in enormous relief as I unleashedmy hounds.

This is whatI know:

Nine timesout of ten, at least in my life, expecting a task or some endeavor to be routinewill not be so; it will be fraught with small challenges that need to be facedand dealt with in the moment.

What I alsoknow:

It’s allabout moving forward….