Since the boy has been across the pond for nearly two weeks, I’ve had the pleasure of watching his dog. Now, the dog isn’t just any old dog. The dog is a 70 pound black lab with hair (fur) shinier than mine. The dog is all legs. The dog is 4 going on 1, and thus has the energy of a hummingbird. Seriously. The dog has been known to run a 14-miler with me, rest for a few hours, and be raring to go again.
Therefore, I’ve had an excellent running partner for the last couple of weeks. Although he does pull on the leash when we first get outside (he has no clue how to pace himself…obviously). And we do have to stop for bathroom breaks on occasion (him, not me). But he’s a real trooper. Mid-week long runs. Two-a-days. Speed work. Hill pushes. The dog won’t stop. He starts hyping out when he sees me change into my running clothes. It only accelerates when the shoes and watch go on.
His other problem is that he’s just so cute. I have no defense against him. I tried to be stern with him the first few days. I had very strict rules about him sleeping in my room (and that lasted a night). I had very strict rules about him being in the kitchen (and that lasted a few hours). But look at those droopy eyes. And those big floppy ears. Exactly. Guess who’s been running the show around here?
But, hey, he’s not my dog. I only have him from time to time. It’s like having Lucky Charms cereal at your grandparents house. Because you can. Because you have to bend the rules somewhere.