Rhys' forth bottom tooth erupted, finally, after what seemed like months of pain, crying and bailing buckets of drool. Even with this dental break through, this afternoon he was def con 4 fussy. With the light and warmth of a glorious fall Monday flatten and falling, Rhys' cry fest made me call it quits at four o'clock and head out for a "walk" with Bella and 16 month-old Rhys. I added quotes to walk because I completely expected our "walk" to conclude after a mid-block face plant, wailing, and me hoisting Rhys up into ride on Daddy position.
Rhys surprised me by toddering straight down our walkway, making a quick pivot right and high stepping up the block toward the little park to the west. When I caught up to Rhys, moving in a halting, unbalanced, penguinesque gait, two doors down, he was having the time of his life giggling and repeatedly vocalizing "baath, baath, baath!" Every uneven sidewalk paver and crack was a major obstacle deserving a brief deceleration or even full-stop for Rhys to evaluate each inch of treacherous elevation change. Rhys also paused with the irregularity and predictability of a humming bird at a feeder to inspect his belly button, lifting his green Pati jacket and t-shirt to expose his cute, bulbous abdomen.
Rhys managed to navigate the entire standard long, dog-walking loop up Milwaukee, down Elizabeth and back up to Fillmore, crashing hard to the prone position only twice - tearless delays of his determined progress. The only time I carried him was to redirect him back to the sidewalk after his frequent scouting missions of our neighbor's front porch decor. On one occasion, I grabbed him to divert his course away from crossing the (traffic less) street.
After our forty minute lap of smiles and hard urban hiking, we return home and Rhys returned to def con 4. Rhys is an outside dog.
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