The Non-Outdoorsman

He doesn’t much care for the outdoors, that husband of mine. His aversion is largely due to allergies, as he seems to have a negative response to any green, growing thing. Two hours of yard work will put him out of commission for the rest of the day while his head tries to sort out the histamines and congestion that have incapacitated him.

Allergy meds help, but George is averse to taking pills of any kind. If he feels badly enough, though, he will occasionally take Allegra or Claritin.

“I took drugs yesterday,” he said after an hour of spreading mulch, “and I felt so much better than I feel today.”

“What does that tell you?” I said, in hopes he would acknowledge the benefit of using some help on a regular basis.

“Bubble boy should not go outside.”

Like I said, George doesn’t care for the outdoors. This creates a dilemma for me because I love to walk and hike, even tracking my daily miles. George does walk a bit when our old dog, Prince, wants to go out. But Prince’s health is failing—he’s fourteen, after all, pretty old for a large dog—and we’ve had to scale back on the distances he walks.

“When Prince dies, will I ever get you outside to take a walk?” I said.

“I won’t commit at this point.” 

I took that as a no. But a few seconds later, he added: “Are you willing to wear a collar and a leash?”

Whatever it takes, I guess.