Pokemon Go isn’t just affecting humans.

Since

a week ago, I’ve walked more around my house and neighborhood than since I moved here. And I don’t own a vehicle! (Meaning I walk on a regular basis.)
But whereas I pretty much loathe to take the dog out (hey, I love him; I’m just lazy!), suddenly I’m taking him for walks beyond to the dog park for him to do his duty. Suddenly we are walking a LOT more. For extended periods. He looks around while I try to catch my Pokemon or battle the gym.

Many times, he will look up at me, slightly confused. “Is this our new routine?” he seems to say with his eyes.

“Yes, yes it is, pup,” I murmur, as that annoying zubat jumps out of the way of my excellent throw for the fifteenth time.

At least until I run out of Pokeballs.

On a good note: My dog has met more friendly dogs in the last week than his entire life. Latest acquaintance: a Yorkie named Thor. Which is hilarious, because my dog is a Shorkie named Marvel DeeCee.

The Pokemon Go community in my area is thriving; nightly meetups of about 30 people across all different teams are getting together at pokestops, throwing lures down and relishing each other’s victories.

Plus, since the game isn’t well documented, it harkens back to the prodigy days of Mortal Kombat II for me, where everyone was desperate for information – local groups of players banded together to expand their knowledgebase. Last night I was gathered around a giant turtle in a park, sharing what I knew for easy ways to level up (pop a lucky egg just before you evolve a bunch of lower level pokemon), while they shared their gym battle techniques (triple tap and slide – thanks, Ken). There is talk of heading into the city on Sunday to make a tour of the rarest pokemon in the city.

Some poor woman in San Francisco thought “I’ll organize a Poke Crawl in San Francisco!” 22,000 people later, she’s having to plan out six different routes.

Is your pet wondering what the heck you’re doing in pokemon? Let us know in the comments below.