I figured out today why my husband says the things he does. I also remembered that I had never picked my drycleaning from last winter.

Yesterday, I came up with a brilliant idea for my son’s next birthday party. And I realized what the perfect ending was for a story I was writing. In the midst of that reverie, I had a wonderful flash of memory of my father, when he was still healthy and vibrant.

Tomorrow, I hope to figure out why I say the things I do. And there is always the chance I will get some insight into the whereabouts of the cable remote that’s been missing for the last two years.

I owe all of these thoughts to one individual: my dog, Buddy. No, I don’t have illusions that he talks to me. As much as I love him, I know that he is just a garden-variety beagle. But his need to be walked three times a day provides me with what I need most in my creative life.

You see, walking is when I do my best thinking. Forced away from the usual daily distractions (family, computer, newspaper, phone, books, refrigerator, radio...), my brain is finally freed from its moorings, and ambles and rambles in a twisted path with no known direction.

When unconstrained, my thoughts often arrive somewhere I never would have found had I not let them take the lead. It is in those uniquely Zenlike moments, when I have stopped trying to worry out a problem, when I am only conscious of the rhythmic plodding of my sneakers and jingling of Buddy’s dog tags, that inspiration hits: Of course! The perfect solution. The forgotten memory. The life-changing insight. They were there all the time, just waiting for me to be quiet and let them come.

On my walks with Buddy, I have solved many writing struggles, marital spats, parenting quandaries, and household repair problems. None of that would ever have happened if I hadn’t taken the walk because the only way to true revelation is to get out of your own way, and let your mind try something new. If I say to myself, “Why is my son acting this way?” or “You’ve got to figure out where that drip is coming from!”, I sit, I ponder, but I rarely have those nuggets of clear insight.

Instead, my mind rebels from the onerous task at hand and obstinately strays to such helpful things like, “What did my husband really mean when he said he loved the way I’ve filled out? How long is Payless having the $9.99 kids’ sneaker sale? Should I have that mole checked out? Is it time for lunch yet?” In short, I need the walk to screen out the static.

What does Buddy have to do with all this, you ask? Can’t I walk without him? Well, yes, and sometimes I do. But I woudn’t be out there two, three times a day if it weren’t for him. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I lost ten pounds within weeks of Buddy’s arrival. Buddy gives me the cover I need to give this time to myself. When he starts scratching at the door or biting my socks, there are no excuses good enough to skip a walk. I don’t feel guilty that I am not giving the time to my family or my work because either we go or Psycho Beagle is going to tear the house apart.

Besides, to walk without Buddy would be tantamount to saying I am expecting inspiration to hit, and then you can be assured, it won’t. The muses only arrive unbidden, when I am looking elsewhere, when my only consciousness is on this walk, this dog, this breeze.

And I have to admit, Buddy is a good listener. Sometimes I will try out an idea or two on him and you know, it really doesn’t feel all that silly. When we are outside, and it’s me and Buddy and we’re walking and talking, something special happens. We commune.

Recently, I told a friend that I had had an idea for a book while walking Buddy. “What did Buddy think?” she asked. It took me a second to realize she was kidding.

Woman's Day May 14, 2002