Sometimes you sit down to write some sweet sentimental words about your furry, sausage-shaped best friend and as you sit there typing away, you hear whining.
You just took her out to take care of business and her food bowl is full, so you know the noises coming from her cute little face are directly related to you getting ready to go for a run. She sees running shoes and suddenly this would-never-make-a-peep-if-a-burglar-were-in-the-house pup is the most vocal little butt head ever.
BUT you just wrote all these sweet words about her and really it is kind of cute how she just sees your running shoes and remembers all the good times you’ve had running together. She’s forgiven you for that time you took her running without water in 98 degree Florida weather and ended up throwing her in an ebola-infested retention pond to keep her from dying of dehydration. And that other hot day when you got lost and made her run 8 miles instead of a reasonable 4? Forgotten. All those times she drank so much water so quickly at the end of a run that she puked all over herself are a non-issue in her mind, so you give in.
You save your barely written blog post as a draft and put the leash she’s been pawing (as if you don’t already know what she wanted to do) on her and head out for a run. You start out innocently enough. She’s not not pulling your arm out of its socket but you’re used to it, and by the time you get to the top of those
hills the sun starts setting. You take her off her leash because you’re in a
field reasonably far from cars and you soak in the orange and pinks surrounding
the city’s silhouette.
While you took your eyes off of the dog, she took it upon herself to scope out the area.
“A boring field, you say? I think not.”
She disappears under a tree and as you’re about to do some burpees, you call her to you knowing not the ancient and very important ritual she has performed.
As she comes sheepishly toward you, you are immediately suspect of her nonchalance, then you notice her matted back fur. Then, wait, shadows, right? They have to be shadows – no, her leash dragging on the ground has gone from light blue to black and-- mud? Dogs like mud, right?
She comes slowly closer and there it is. You get a whiff.
“Shit,” you say both literally and figuratively.
It’s a unique moment in your life when you realize that the mammal you’ve raised for five years wants, no needs, to roll around in feces just because you took your eyes off of her for 8 minutes.
So that’s my dog, friends. Ziggy Stardust loves dinosaur chew toys, carrots and rolling around in poop. It’s good to know what your passions are.