My dog thinks he’s a skateboard.
Just popping down to the skate park, he says.
I shrug and go back to work. He takes himself out for a few hours, trots down to the skate park, avoiding the helping hands of people who try to reach out and grab him, thinking that he’s a lost dog. He arrives at the asphalt and plays it cool, to begin with. Hovers around the sidelines, watching the others. When he feels comfortable, when he is ready to play it really cool and brave the track, he slides into place with all the other skaters, and practices his tricks, gets his balance right. Finesses his technique.
He doesn’t mind if I go along. Sometimes he’ll come over and say, hey, hey, watch this, I’m gonna do a 360. He usually does OK. Sometimes he falls, or lands the wrong way and hurts his side, or grazes his knees. He pretends like it’s no big deal until he gets home; then I give him sticky plasters and paracetamol, and run him a warm bath, if he has any aches or pains.
He calls his paws his wheels, and makes sure they’re in tip-top condition. He drops oil on his toe-joints to make sure they run smoothly. He asks me to wax his back – not to wax the hair off, but to apply a protective coat of wax so that he’s more sleek and weatherproof. I called him “nuts” the first few times, but I figure, if he’s not hurting anyone, he should just do his own thing. Undoubtedly, just a phase that dogs go through.