So last night I took Cameron for his first walk on a leash in a new neighborhood. He was nervous; he walked so close to my left side that his neck kept bumping my leg and I nearly stepped on his foot more than once. Halfway down our street, I heard a car coming, so we stopped to let it go by, and he was trembling so hard that the nails on one of his back feet were clicking on the pavement. We kept going, though; I had him switch to my right side so I was a buffer between him and the scary, unfamiliar houses, and he walked much better. He watched everything; I think his busy brain kept asking, "What's that? What's that? What's THAT?" A garage door going down freaked him out, but he didn't have a meltdown. "Let's turn around," I think he asked. "Let's go the other way. The other way is quieter." So I waited with him for a bit, and he calmed back down.
At the park, we met with a man walking a small dog. "Uh-oh," I thought. None of my previous greyhounds were good with strange dogs on walks, but Cameron didn't seem worried. He actually sniffed the other dog and then ignored the short little thing; that is VERY exciting to me, as it means I won't have to cross the street whenever I see another dog coming.
At home, I was his new best friend; he kept following me, watching for me to pick up the leash again. Despite his fear, I think he would have kept walking. Writing about it now, when I'm hungry and tired and not looking forward to our afternoon meetings, I think there's a lesson to be learned from our newest family member.