I Don't Need No Stinkin' Leash

Yep, it's no surprise to those who know me that I am not a fan of leashes.   While Murphy used a leash when we ran, our walks/ball throws have always been off leash.  Other than a few (ok, a number) of incidents in our youths when she decided a pack of Dalmatians was far more entertaining than going home, Murphy has generally (note the qualifier) been good about coming back to me.  When I have had to put her leash on, she always turned her head away, as if to say: Mom, I don't need no stinkin' leash.

Recently, however, she follows her nose.  And that led to get stuck in some bushes, falling off the trail, or simply seeming befuddled near the creek.  I worry about her, now.  That if Sage and I get a little ahead, she will panic, make a wrong move, and wander even further away.  

Several days ago we held a Leash Summit.  I wanted to go to some resort and have our aides hammer out an agreement, but Murphy preferred staying home and discussing the details over toast and cheese.  Our compromise, to be announced later on CNN, is that Murphy can wander for awhile off  leash.  Then, as the walks progress, she goes on-leash so that we can discuss Matters of Grave Importance.  After we gain a little momentum, the leash will go off and she is "on nose."  Negotiations were tense, but I appreciate her willingness to see me half-way on this one.  But that is how Murphy is, always willing to accommodate me: Yeah, Mom, whatever makes you happy makes me happy.

Murphy's day.