It all started with a run we went on Saturday morning. It was awesome! The longest one the pooch and I have gone on together. Which means, sadly, the longest run I've been on since we got him. Which is, sadly, not even as many miles as fingers on one hand.
Oh alright, anyway. Drake-Murphdog could run forever in this weather. So sometimes (especially up a hill) I yell "MUSH" like he is a husky running the ice-roads of Alaska and implore him to pull me faster!faster! up the hill.
All's not well that ends in this perma-limp I've had since I pretended to be Sarah Palin on her new TLC series.
Which's brings Ddog and I to a hobble of a run this morning in the 5:30 darkness. But also, isn't it supposed to be a little bit lighter in the morning? I forget every year how this all goes down. Dog did not appreciate the abbreviated hobble and refused to wag his tail for the rest of the morning (he hates Mondays).
After a sleeting drive home I rescue Murphdog and attempt to video-capture his maiden voyage into the snowy yonder. Psssht, please. He's seen it all before and was far less excited than I had anticipated. The only thing that really excited him was nibbling on other dogs' frozen poops. Which is when his bad day really took a turn for the worse. Woah baby did I tell him I was mad at him! My dog-whispering abilities tell me that this is what snow makes him think of... surviving on frosty terds in wild. Well let me tell you how much longer that will last.
Not much.
I hope.
Ddog and I were hardly on speaking terms when we got back to the house. Only long enough for me to brush his teeth and feed him peanut butter so his breath didn't smell like... well.
We sat in silence while I did some research on chameleons and seahorses so when pops got home we jumped at the chance for the Drake to go for another walk.
Well if he didn't come back with burrs from one end of his tail to the other than I just don't know what.
We spent the next hour picking them out. Woah baby does he hate anything going on near his tail!
My poor pup. He really doesn't care for Mondays (through Fridays) and I feel a bit helpless about it all. Not helpless enough to let him delight in eating feces, but you know, helpless. This winter weather has us dreaming of our summer days together when we frolicked for hours on end and ran often enough not to get gait-altering injuries. I just hope I'm doing right by him. There have been several e-posts on a community bulletin board lately about a family who's Tennessee-rescued pooch that they've had for a few weeks ran off and has anyone seen him. My heart has ached each time. I've seen these messages for a few weeks now and this morning there was, what might be, the final note. About a dog- that matched the description, having been spotted, lifeless, on the side of the highway. I looked at my Drake. With whom I have already been through a bundle of highs and lows. And I counted my blessings for each opportunity I have had to live his life with him.
And it gets me thinking.
Maybe the bad days aren't so bad afterall.
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