I never asked for this dog and, most certainly, I never asked to be the sole caregiver to this damned dog. At least once a day he runs away. I used to yell, "Waaaaaylon! Come back, Waylon! Come on, boy, come back!"
Now, he's lucky if I shrug. He always turns to look at me shortening in his distance, and I swear I've caught him raising his front paw, giving me the "middle fingernail."
One mile walks take 35 minutes. Runs are a complete hell, and I cannot believe how much pee he saves for these. Literally, he feels that he must whiz on every bush, blade of grass, low hanging pine and mailbox post before
we really get going; but even after we’re running—full speed—he’ll launch me
into the most abrupt, chaotic halt, ripping my arms from their just-warming-up shoulder
sockets.
Car horns blast. Children snicker. People stare. There are two
things in life that make me look ridiculous:
- Mathematics contests.
- Running with my dog.
In other news, I've been planning a romantic, childless get-away for Matt's birfday. I can announce this publicly because I had to tell him that we're going somewhere so he would not book a business trip. He's in for a surprise...since it'll be coming from Groupon. :)
They had this deal: “Overnight in Springfield for two.” Are you kidding me? That’s near Columbus, Indiana, right? Let's not overwhelm him with luxury.
I like that idea about as much as I like people who say "libary."
Surprise, surprise, surprise. It's my specialty.
