If you’ve been following along, you know I love a good walk. But let me tell you – there’s regular walking, and then there’s bush walking. And for a dog like me, bush walking is the ultimate jackpot.
Here’s the thing you humans might not realize: when you’re walking, you see stuff. Trees, trails, maybe the odd squirrel if you’re lucky. But for me? My nose turns the whole world into a storybook. Every leaf, every patch of dirt, every tree trunk holds a thousand different scents layered on top of each other. Who was here yesterday. Which rabbit cut through this trail at sunrise. Whether a deer paused for a snack or a raccoon had a midnight party. My nose is like your eyes, ears, and Google Maps all rolled into one. So when you think I’m just sniffing a stick for two minutes straight, what I’m really doing is reading the news (my parents should think about THAT next time they yank me away from a fire hydrant).
That’s why off-leash bush walks are so special. I get to explore at my pace. Not Mom’s “pregnant and cautious” pace, or Dad’s “strictly for exercise” pace. I can linger on smells, dash ahead, circle back, and check in with my cousins, who come along sometimes (quick brag: their recall stinks compared to mine. Hazel darts off in the bush and Harvey doesn’t even look back when you call him. I guess we can’t all be perfect.)
But with all great joys come great battles. My enemy? The bur plant. For those of you who don’t know, burs are these sneaky little seed pods covered in tiny hooks that stick to fur like glue. They wait quietly in the bushes until – bam! – I brush past them and suddenly look like I’ve been through a cactus patch. And thanks to my glorious curls, they don’t just stick. They weave themselves into my being.
By the time we finish the walk, I’m covered. Mom and Dad aren’t big fans. They spend hours pulling them out, muttering words I can’t repeat here. I, of course, prefer to help by spitting the burs out of my mouth directly onto their bed. You’re welcome.
Fun fact: did you know burs are what inspired the invention of Velcro? Some human looked at a bur stuck to his pants and thought, “Hmm, I could make money off this.”. Meanwhile, I’m stuck being a walking Velcro demo every time we hit the trails.
For my fellow fluffy adventurers: a tip. A slicker brush or a wide-tooth comb works best for getting burs out. Some people even swear by using a bit of coconut oil to loosen the grip. But really, the best tip is to convince your parents to do all the work while you lie on the bed and sigh dramatically. That’s my method.
So, yes, bush walks are my favorite thing in the world. Even if it means battling burs every time. Honestly? Totally worth it. Because the smells, the freedom, the adventure – it’s all magic to me.
Until next time, friends. May your walks be long, your noses busy, and your beds free of burs.
Your friend, Mack
