Right, right, left, across, right...

My husband is a good man. He is patient, he is responsible, he is faithful, and he’s very predictable. Now, if I were to tell him that he’s predictable he would object, but it would still be true.

My husband has not-so-latent OCD. He does things the same way at the same time in the same order every day. He is brand faithful, to put it mildly. He has social anxiety. He is vigilant about all potential problems at home, and he is convinced that I, with my much breezier attitude, am going to burn the house down if he looks away for just one minute.

My husband thrives on routine, structure, and predictability, whereas I tend more to the impulsive if not the chaotic. We balance each other perfectly.

My husband is away this weekend, so I have had some much-needed peace and quiet. Weekends here are not relaxing unless you enjoy the sounds of home improvement. Of course, this meant that I had to tend to the day-to-day tasks like washing dishes, weekend laundry, feeding the pets and walking the dog. Ah, walking the dog.

When I adopted the dog 2 ½ years ago, I assured my husband that I would be her primary caretaker. On our fifth morning outing, I suffered a bit of a mishap. The dog (we’ll call her Sparkle because the stupid name the shelter pegged her with) is a purebred Border collie. Border collies are known for being brilliant, highly trainable, fast, very active, and insane when in close proximity with any round, flying object.

And so it was on a sunny September morning that I learned why some dogs are not compatible with a retractable leash. Sparkle and I were walking around the park when a man with three Border collies waved at me from about 100 feet away. Sparkle and I crossed the grass and the guy said, "Wow. That is a good looking dog. Is she all Border collie?” I assured him she was. He stood up from petting her and casually tossed the ball he was holding. His dogs ran in the direction of the ball—and so did Sparkle. Great, except Sparkle was still on her leash. In less than a second, all 12 feet of the leash flew out of its canister, and when there was no more leash to unleash, the laws of physics kicked in.

My arm jerked forward, hard, and I was pulled up onto my toes. From my tiptoes, I was pulled forward as I went slightly airborne. I belly-flopped onto the soaking wet grass and I realized that I was still moving. Behold the power of the Border collie. In her pursuit of the ball, Sparkle managed to drag me for at least ten feet across the grass. I let go of the leash and checked myself for major orthopedic injuries.

It looked like my powder-blue warm up pants took the worst of it and had become a situation worthy of a Tide commercial. The guy with the dogs helped me and said, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you OK? If this weren’t so serious, I would have to laugh—that was spectacular. Are you sure you’re OK?” I assured him I was. It took us ten minutes to wrangle Sparkle, who now had no intention of getting back on leash if there was a ball to be caught.

I limped home. Seven years ago or so, I had knee surgery wherein a great deal of the cartilage behind my right kneecap was removed. As a result, I must avoid impact to my knee. Having just sustained a significant impact, my knee immediately swelled and sent searing pain shooting through my leg.

My husband has been the dog walker ever since. It’s not that I’m unwilling, but my husband is convinced that I am too uncoordinated to avoid a second round of surgery.

As I puttered around this weekend, I took a certain amount of pleasure in not having to indulge my husband’s OCD tendencies. I used the long cycle on the dishwasher and opened the door halfway through (grin). I did two loads of laundry without cleaning the lint filter in the dryer between loads. I turned on a lot of lights (ha!), and I made up my own meandering route when I walked the dog.

My husband and I have argued about this before. He takes the same exact route, in the same exact amount of time, every single day—twice a day on weekends—although he adamantly denies this. I, on the other hand, think it’s more interesting for me if I make up the route as I go. I also believe that it’s better for Sparkle both in terms of mental stimulation (BCs need that) and to familiarize her with more than one way to get home, should she get lost or abducted.

The dog was confused less than a block from home. She kept pulling one way and I would go another. The thing about a BC is, once they learn a behavior, they expect it to always be the same. I could see that my husband hadn’t been varying his route, after all. If he had, Sparkle wouldn’t be trying to do something contrary to her handler’s cues. I kept reassuring Sparkle that change was good and variety really is the spice of life.

When we went out today, I decided to let Sparkle show me what she knows. My husband is so busted. I never had to give a command or tug on the leash. Sparkle led the way with confidence and determination. She was all business, and she even showed me where she crosses the intersection on the diagonal, which street she crosses in the middle of the block, where all the dogs are hiding behind privacy fences, and where we should cut across the soccer field in the park. I was amazed by the precision of her routine.

Now that I think about it, a Border collie was the perfect choice for my husband, given his need for structure and repetition. Did I mention that Border collies are prone to OCD? At our house we call it, "Sparkle's caught in a loop again."

Sparkle is a working dog…if only we could teach her to do things like clean the bathroom and use the vacuum cleaner, she'd be worthy of that title. Oh, that’s right. She’s afraid of the bathroom and she keeps trying to kill the vacuum…