Walk, Don’t Run—The Dogs Are Watching

Walking the Fine Line between Fitness and Foolishness

When it comes to my morning walks, I don’t dabble in the conventional. Parks, jogging tracks, and treadmills? Pass. I’m a side-road connoisseur.

Give me a narrow, potholed lane with a stray chicken or two over a smooth track any day. Who needs predictability when you can have the thrill of almost stepping into something questionable?

My walking route changes daily… not because I’m a trailblazer, but because I have the navigational instincts of a malfunctioning GPS.

This routine lets me sink into my own world of thoughts—until a vehicle speeds past, reminding me why I should’ve stayed in bed.

The timing? Meticulous. I choose sunrise… not because I’m poetic about the golden hues of dawn, but because that’s when the neighbourhood’s stray dog gang clocks out.

Before sunrise they’re like caffeine-addicted bouncers, aggressively enforcing sidewalk rules. I’ve learned to wait them out. It’s survival, not strategy.

At first, I was terrified of the dogs. News stories painted them as furry landmines. So I developed a foolproof plan: wear a cap. Not for shade or style, mind you, but as a makeshift weapon. The cap doubles as a shield, a punching glove, and, in dire situations, a flag of surrender.

Turns out, the dogs couldn’t care less about me. They’re like aloof celebrities at a fancy gala: no growls, no lunges, not even a bored sniff in my direction.

The only thing I’ve successfully defended myself against? A hyper-dedicated fly.

This fly has a routine. Every time I pass a certain spot, it buzzes in like a persistent telemarketer offering a dubious “soothing muscle tickling” service. It’s always angling for prime real estate on my face, whispering sweet nothings into my ears. If it had a business card, it would read: “Buzzing Pest—Now with Extra Annoyance!”

Running might ditch the fly. But let’s face it… running is overrated. Besides, running makes you sweatier. And that just upgrades you from “mildly interesting” to “premium buffet” in fly terms.

Rainy days add their own charm… or chaos, depending on your perspective. I’ve scoped out every awning, shopfront, and overhang in the area as potential shelter during a sudden downpour.

These deserted early-morning havens let me pace in peace, pretending I’m not just loitering like a weirdo.

One day, though, the rain caught me between shelters. With nowhere else to go, I ducked into the skeletal embrace of a building under construction. The parapet was so narrow I felt like a reluctant gymnast attempting balance beam practice.

Just as I was contemplating standing still and letting the rain baptize me, along came him: Mosquito Raja., the reincarnated fitness trainer.

This mosquito wasn’t your average bloodsucker. He had purpose, drive, and a cruel sense of humour. He orchestrated a relentless game of kabaddi, forcing me to flail my arms like a malfunctioning windmill. But he dodged every swat with Matrix-level agility.

It wasn’t long before I was power-walking in place, shoes squelching in rainwater, dignity dripping faster than the downpour.

And then, my phone rang. My wife. Her tone, a cocktail of confusion and amusement. “Why are you out walking in the rain?” she demanded. I explained my predicament: trapped under mosquito-mandated movement in a construction zone.

Her response? “You skip walks on perfect sunny days but decide to stroll when it’s pouring? Genius.” I had no comeback, so I defaulted to my best defence: awkward silence.

Finally, the rain eased to a drizzle. And I made a break for home… only to stop dead at the corner. Seven stray dogs sat there, looking like the Supreme Court of Strays, presiding over my soggy humiliation.

I slowed to a walk, trying not to make eye contact. My cap, primed for action, trembled slightly in my hand.

The dogs, of course, had no interest in me. They sat there, dry and smug, silently questioning why this soggy human was wandering around when even they had the sense to stay under shelter.

So what’s the moral here? Dogs are way smarter than they let on, flies deserve their own horror movies, and sometimes, the best walk is the one you take from your couch to the kitchen for another cup of coffee.