Roscoe Shuffle

Our lives are governed by choices, but what if you only had to make one? Meet Roscoe, a Siberian Husky whose life is a blissful, decision-free paradise... with one hilarious exception. While his meals, exercise, and bedtime are dictated by a higher authority, one daily ritual becomes a dramatic performance of indecision. He performs the "Roscoe Shuffle"—an intricate, comical dance of sniffing, circling, and leg-lift deliberation that turns a simple bodily function into a high-stakes negotiation with the universe. From forensic "Geological Surveys" to the "Canine Compass Theory," we explore the profound weight of a single choice through the eyes of a very particular dog.

If you've ever been overwhelmed by options or just love a good dog story, this one's for you.

📖 Read Roscoe Shuffle on my website

Hello, I'm D. K. Wall, author of novels and short stories. Welcome to Musings and Tales. Whether it's a story I'm spinning or a thought I'm sharing from my home here in Asheville, it's all 100% true... except for the parts I make up.

📚Visit my website to discover more about my novels and short stories.

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Episode Transcript

D. K. Wall (00:28):
Our lives are built upon countless decisions, an
interwoven foundation ofchoices, big and small. Some are
monumental, shaping the verycourse of our existence. Which
career to pursue? Who to love?Whether pineapple truly belongs

(00:49):
on pizza?
But most are mundane. What toeat for dinner? Which book on
the leaning tower of your to beread stack to tackle next?
Whether you can hit that snoozebutton just one more time?
For most of us, these smalldecisions are fleeting,

(01:10):
dispatched with minimal mentaleffort. We are, after all, busy
with more important things toaccomplish.
But not Roscoe. For those not inthe know, Roscoe is 55 pounds of
Siberian Husky fur and blessedwith a life largely free of

(01:30):
choice.
His carefully prepared,nutritionally balanced meal
appears in his bowl twice dailywith the reliability of a Swiss
train. His exercise regimen, sixmiles of trails a day, is
dictated by the family'sschedule. Bedtime is a non
negotiable, herd like migrationto the sleeping quarters.

(01:53):
In the kingdom of our home,Roscoe is a happy, well fed
citizen with no executive powerwhatsoever, and he likes it that
way.
In his early years under ourroof, he gladly outsourced all
his cognitive functions to ahigher authority. His bestest
brother ever, the late great,His Royal Highness Little Prince

(02:17):
Typhoon Phooey.
Typhoon, happy to finally havesomeone listen to his endless
opinions, dictated the optimalnapping locations, the precise
moment to request yard time, andthe appropriate volume for
Sibernacle Choir practice.
Roscoe's only job was to follow,a task he performed with a

(02:39):
joyful bounce in his step,utterly gleeful to leave his
brain in neutral. He was thedelighted Vice President of
Doing What He Was Told.
When Typhoon passed onto thegreat dog park in the sky, a
constitutional crisis rocked ourhousehold.
Roscoe was rudderless, a furryvessel adrift on a sea of

(03:02):
uncertainty, his eyes pleadingfor a direction. The chain of
command was broken. Chaosreigned.
Fortunately, just as anarchy wasabout to set in, we adopted
Sally. Sally, a forty five pounddynamo of boundless attitude,
took one look at ourdisorganized state of affairs

(03:25):
and promptly staged a coup.
She burst onto the scene like acaffeinated CEO on a mission to
optimize a failing startup. Youmight expect grumbling from the
tenured employees, but no. Theboys, long starved for
leadership, snapped toattention, desperate for a brain

(03:47):
within the outfit. With Sally'sextension to the throne, order
was restored.
Roscoe was ecstatic. Once again,his life was a blissful,
decision free paradise. He washappily demoted to intern in
charge of tailwags. All wasright with the world.

(04:09):
Except for one thing, a solitarydecision that Sally, for all her
managerial prowess, cannot makefor him.
You see, Typhoon was a boy dog.Sally is a girl dog. And this
brings us to the delicate andprofound subject of canine

(04:29):
urination.
For Sally, the process is amasterpiece of efficiency. When
the urge strikes, it's a simple,automated function. She engages
the squat protocol over asuitable patch of grass, handles
her business, and moves on withher life, all within the span of
about seven seconds. It is atask, not an art form.

(04:54):
But for the male of the species,specifically Roscoe, it is a
sacred ritual. It is aperformance. It is a series of
complex high stakes negotiationswith the universe. Every single
trip outside becomes a dramaticone act play entitled the agony

(05:16):
of choice.
Take Operation MorningEvacuation. After a solid night
of sleep, emptying the bladderis of top priority. Sally, first
out, completes her objectivewith ruthless precision. She's
already sniffing for roguesquirrels before Roscoe's first
paw has even touched the grass.

(05:39):
He stands at the door, scans theyard, and becomes overwhelmed
with a multitude of optionsbefore him.
And so, enter Phase One,Geological Survey. This is not a
casual sniff. This is a forensicinvestigation.

(05:59):
He lowers his noble snout andbegins an inventory of olfactory
interest with a twitching noseanalyzing aromatic data points.
He discards some spots as toomundane. Others have been
visited by various creatures ofthe night and show promise.
But scent alone does not satisfyall criteria. Does the soil

(06:23):
composition offer the rightsplashback absorption? Is a
blade of grass of the properheight? Which way is the wind
blowing?
Once a potential candidate, saya particularly robust dandelion,
is identified, hope grows in hiseyes. A decision has been made.

(06:44):
This is the one. He circlespreparing for phase two, leg
lift deliberation and alignment.Here, things get complicated.
Roscoe, you must understand, isambidextrous or ambipedal or

(07:05):
perhaps ambipawdal. Whatever theterm, he is equally comfortable
lifting his right or his leftleg.
This choice is not to be takenlightly. We've witnessed the
port versus starboard debaterage for what feels like an
eternity. He'll lift one,hesitate, put it down, turn in

(07:28):
the opposite direction, and trythe other, as if testing for a
subtle difference in balance orbarometric pressure.
We refer to this struggle as theRoscoe Shuffle, an intricate
dance of twisting, turning,craning his neck, and
sidestepping, all while firstone rear leg and then the next

(07:50):
hovers precariously in the air.
Why does he do this? I havedeveloped several theories.
First, the Canine CompassTheory. He is attempting to
align his urinary trajectoryperfectly with magnetic north
for reasons we mere humanscannot comprehend.

(08:13):
Second, the Artistic ExpressionTheory. He is not merely
relieving himself. He iscreating a statement piece. The
angle of the stream against thebackdrop of nature must be
aesthetically perfect.
Third, the mothership theory. Heis sending a signal, a liquid

(08:35):
Morse code to his home planet.He will complete his mission
only when the star is aligned.
Whatever the reason, the momenthas finally come. A position has
been obtained. Balance islocked. Leg lifted. Phasers
armed.

And we enter Phase Three (08:54):
Abort.
More often than not, just as heachieves what appears to be the
perfect stance, leg at a jauntyangle, body contorted into a
shape that would make a yogamaster weep and a look of
profound concentration on hisface, he will freeze, his eyes

(09:19):
locked on an object elsewhere inthe yard.
A branch, a leaf, another bladeof grass that looks identical to
the one he is balanced over, atleast to the undrained human
eye. Whatever he has spotted, itis, in his mind, the El Dorado
of Pee Post.

(09:39):
It is greener. It is taller. Itpossesses an undeniable aura of
significance that the poordandelion simply lacks.
With a sigh that carries theweight of all the bad decisions
ever made, his leg will slowly,agonizingly lower back to the

(10:01):
ground. The entire process, thesniffing, the circling, the leg
deliberation, the shuffle mustbegin anew.
This entire performance can lastbeyond all reason, or at least
beyond the patience of the humanshivering in his pajamas and
wondering why he didn't bring amug of coffee outside while this

(10:24):
drama is played out on a canvasof suburban lawn.
And, in case you think thesecond target is the charm, this
can go on for a third or fourthuntil finally Roscoe trots back
to the very first dandelion herejected and handles his
business, as if exhausted by thesheer burden of it all.

(10:47):
He then returns to the house,blissful in the lack of need to
make any further decisions untilthe urge hits him again.
Is the moral of my story thateven in the simplest of lives, a
bit of choice can be aterrifying thing? Perhaps Roscoe
knows something we don't.Perhaps the weight of these

(11:07):
small decisions is far heavierthan we imagine.
Whatever the reason, I'm takingmy coffee with me next time.