Were you to look out your front window right now - go on, do it - there's a solid chance that you'll see a shaggy fellow in a black hooded sweatshirt walking a noodle dog down the street. Quite possibly, that short, stocky dog is currently relieving himself on your rose bushes and, aye, that embarrassed-looking man attached to this dog by a leash is likely me.

Earlier this year, Ibought a house. A lonely, empty, possibly haunted house. So Idecided to look for a roommate. The kind of roommate who doesn't pay for rent, food, heat, electricity or any bills, whatsoever. The type of roommate who doesn't ever ask me how my day was. The sort of roommate who will use my backyard as a toilet.

So I got a dog just three weeks ago. Rescued from the Dickinson pound by Oreo's Animal Rescue, my dog is a middle-aged, male basset hound picked up as a stray.

Because he was a stray, no one really knew what his name was. Being a sporting fellow, Ithought fit to ask him what it was. His response was, "Boof, boof!" I assume he was trying to say Bruce. But I stuck with Boof, because I like the idea of owning a dog who can introduce himself to strangers without my help.

Basset hounds, if you didn't know, have a big-dog frame and small-dog legs. So they're adorable, but also prone to obesity and arthritis. I haven't even known Boof for a month yet, and I'm already scared to death of losing him. So Ihave resolved to walk my noodle dog every day, for 45 minutes, to keep him slender and physically fit.

Boof loves walk time. He is, after all, a scent hound, and, as such, his brain is entirely controlled by his nose. So walk time is a chance to explore all of Bismarck with his nose.

If he smells the lone scent of some random Labradoodle on a streetlight, by God, he can't have that. So he will sniff at it long enough that he discerns the name and birthdate of the dog that has urinated in that spot, then he will cover up that spot with his own scent, so that all other dogs will know, "Boof was here."

When he doesn't have his leg lifted to random trees, Boof really seems to be happy to be out in the sun and fresh air. He bounds along without a care in the world. Well, except he doesn't seem to like to walk on grass and is scared senseless of walking through parks. He also doesn't like other dogs barking at him. Motorcycles seem to freak him out. And he must not like government much, because he insists on going to the bathroom every time we walk through the Capitol grounds. But other than that, no cares.

Meanwhile, Itag along, as uncomfortable as can be. After all, I'm missing a lot of television for these walks. I'm very concerned with the effects of the sun on my skin. Idon't like stepping on cracks in the sidewalk. Idon't like other people barking at me. Crossing streets is truly terrifying, some days. And my calves just won't stop hurting.

However, Ilove this dog more than most people, and Iwant him to live a happy and healthy existence, if possible. So, every day possible, for the rest of his or my life, we're going to be out there, pounding the pavement, he the happy one, and me the dude right behind him, sheepishly cleaning up his messes.

The needs of the canine outweigh those of the dude.

(Reach columnist Kelly Hagen at 250-8259 or kelly.hagen@;bismarcktribune.com.)