The Horns of a Dilemma

It was Ray's morning walk. We set off down the block, Ray leading the way and choosing the route as I let him do. We have twenty or so loops of varying lengths that we can use to walk around the neighborhood; the shortest being around the cul-de-sac (used in snow emergencies) followed by the one that goes only around-the-block, used during the summer months when it is too hot, even at six in the morning, to go any further.

Ray took me in the around-the-block direction, not unusual in that he can access at least four other longer routes this way. But when he got to the last corner where he needed to decide to turn left for a two-miler or right for home, Ray stopped. He looked up the street towards the long walk. He looked down the street towards the homeward route. He looked up the street. He looked down the street. I waited patiently while Ray pondered, looking up and down the street several more times before setting off at a brisk trot for home.

A bit puzzled, I followed, wondering why Ray would cut short his morning walk on such a beautiful morning. And it was only then that I realized that I had forgotten to give the poor, hungry dog his breakfast.