I have one inviolable rule when I take Betty on a walk: if we’ve passed it, there is no going back to sniff it or examine it. I don’t care if it is a pot of gold I missed—we aren’t going back.
Betty, of course, has no regard for the rules made by the oppressor controlling the leash, and I think she takes pleasure trying to yank my arm out of its socket whenever she wants to investigate that invisible thing we just walked by. She probably plans it: walk by the thing casually as if it is totally uninteresting, and then, when we are sufficiently past the thing, lunge for it desperately. I wonder if Betty has been reading Kropotkin or something.
