We had two beautiful spring-like days this weekend that were very welcome after a freezing cold week, so we got out with the dogs both days. Today we did a lap around the lake and stopped at the dog park, which may have been a little much for our old hounds, because Fergus seemed to have hurt his paw and was having trouble walking the half mile or so back to the car. Eventually he had to go in the stroller with Fife, who always gets a ride most of the way since he's too old to make it all the way around the lake on his own.

It was slightly disconcerting because as any mathemetician will tell you, having two shelties in a stroller amplifies the preciousness by a factor of at least eight. I have long since abandoned the sort of normal human shame that would prevent a grown man from pushing a dog around in a stroller, but two dogs is a lot even for me. Also, it throws me off my patter - dogs in strollers inevitably get a lot of attention and I can't possibly think of a fresh witty comment for each encounter so I have an established routine that I just cycle through as we walk, but none of my one-dog lines seemed quite up the task of diverting attention from my pitiful state.

If these dogs keep getting older eventually I'm going to need more banter, but here's what I've got right now:

• Actually, he prefers that you call it a "chariot" rather than a "baby stroller."


• This model is nice because it has a handy storage basket underneath where I can keep my dignity.


• He knows things about me, so I have to do what he says.


• I've seen some people actually pushing around babies in one of these. How humiliating!


• Ouch, that hurts, please stop hitting me.