The Small Dog Chronicles: Too Darn Hot

Summertime is hard on the small dog. Never mind being abandoned on a regular basis while her Graven Food Idols go gallivanting in boats -- it's hot like a roaring brick oven in Florida for at least four straight months. 

We fondly refer to her as a fat-head, but truth be told, the small dog DOES rock a thermally efficient physique. Her chesty form and densely packed cranium act like a pressure cooker.  

She's an outstanding panter -- it's an artform for her -- but venting heat is an uphill battle.

Even when she's willing to go walking early, the sun shines fiercely, pavement radiates heat up through her ratty little toe-pads, and the air is thick with humidity. Her route in the winter stretches to as much as a half a mile on a good day, but in August, she tires after about 50 feet. 

She may have energy to start with, but it flags. She begins to pokey-pete. Instead of trotting along at the farthest forward reach of her leash, she dawdles. As the pace slows, she makes frequent but nominal pee-breaks. 

Between bouts of lolly-gagging, she takes to gazing importantly into the middle distance. Eventually, she holds quite still except for one shaking leg. She is a paragon of canine civil disobedience who resembles -- just a bit -- a runty little Elvis impersonator.

When simply calling her name does not work, we find ourselves clapping or pssting for her attention, tjingling her leash, chivvying her along, and tugging on the harness (the same escalating techniques used by police forces facing nonviolent resistance).

Lilly refusing to make eye-contact.

We resort to bribery and promises, setting small goals and cheering her on ("Just to the light pole, come on, Bubba-loup, you can do it!"). Eventually, on the hottest of days, we give it up for a bad job. I'm the weak link. I'll pick her up and portage her back to the air conditioning. 

Where she tanks up on water before staggering to her bed. 

If history holds true, she'll spend the next six hours snoring mightily, recovering from her exertions. Unless she hears the faint jingle of car-keys, the merest whiff of anything yummy, or if someone uses the word "cheese" in conversation. Then she'll bounce up, all ears and expectation.