On Monday, we took Rufus the Wonder Puppy for his first successful walk.

My wife Shawn and I had tried taking our nine week old schnauzer on walks around town before, but the first few “walks” quickly became “drag-and-carrys,” accompanied with lots of whining and sulking.

On Monday evening, we decided to try again. Shawn had some books to return to the public library, so we figured we’d put Rufus on the leash and see how it went.

All the way to the library, it was the same as before. Rufus would go 10 or 15 feet, then lie down in the nearest grass and glare at us, refusing to budge. Or he’d plop down on the sidewalk and scratch at the collar, whining.

It took us longer than usual to get to the library, in other words.

I carried the book into the library while Shawn and Rufus waited outside on the sidewalk, then we started for home.

And Rufus saw those bushes on the east side of the library, and wanted to explore them for a moment. He tugged at the leash, not because he didn’t want to move, but because he wanted to sniff those bushes.

Then we headed across that grassy vacant lot between the library and the Baptist Church, and Rufus caught a scent in the grass. In sudden explorer mode, he veered away from us to follow a trail only he could find.

A light bulb flicked on in Rufus’s mind, and he was suddenly like Jack Skellington in The Nightmare Before Christmas, seeing Christmas Town for the first time:

“What’s this?  What’s this?

There’s something in the air.

What’s this? What’s this?

There’s color everywhere.

What’s this? What’s this?

They’ve got a little tree. 

How queer. And who would ever think....”

Rufus was fine the rest of the way home, ignoring his collar and leash, racing from street sign, to tree, to grassy plot, back to street sign, to tree, to bug on sidewalk, to grass, to tree, to bush, to....

All it took was getting over himself, over his own misery, and allowing himself to get caught up by the bigger world outside himself.

I’ll have to remember that. 

. . .

This week, the Friends of Gilfillan made their special home-made ice cream, that concoction frozen with ice taken every winter from Sleepy Eye Lake. 

Not to be opinionated, but it is the best ice cream in the world. I always make it a point to get a home made ice cream and 1919 root beer float every day I attend Farmfest.

When I found out the Friends were making it this week, I was sorely tempted to put on a seal skin parka and Eskimo snow goggles, and burst into the Gilfillan kitchen, waving a badge and bellowing, “Ice Cream Police! Everybody freeze!”

But that would be silly.