Last night before bed, I made a promise to my dog. I snuggled up to her and said, “Tomorrow morning, you and me, running by the lake. Would you like that? Jogging? You and me?” and she licked my face. We do this routine all the time when my plan is to go for a run with her the next day.
But this morning, our routine was disrupted. My husband offered to drive my daughter to school, which is truly awesome, because it meant I could sleep in. Best. Husband. Ever. However, it also meant the usual running routine—drop daughter at school, drive to lakefront, park car, then jog with dog along the lakefront trail—wasn’t going to happen. Who cares? I though selfishly. Sleep! Sleep is king! I could always run later.
All morning long the dog followed me from room to room as I procrastinated and, I think she knew it, too, thought up all sorts of excuses of why I didn’t have to go for a run today: I ran really long Sunday, my foot is sore, the zit on my chin is too unsightly for public display.
Now, the fact my dog followed me from room to room isn’t unusual. But usually she plunks down, falls asleep and only wakes up if one of her farts is audible. Today, she didn’t eat her breakfast (she always refuses to eat when she know we’re going running—and this dog knows the difference between my running clothes and my yoga clothes) and she followed me from room to room, with that look. Dog owners, you know that look.
By ten-thirty, I could not take it anymore. C’mon. Let’s go, I said. And I swear to God I think she smiled. That dog knew.
We just got back from a nice 45 minute jog. A promise is a promise, after all. Even if it is to your dog.
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