OK, I have made much sport over the fact that I don’t like Lucifer, the orange, leaky-ass dog and she don’t like me neither. She likes to steal my seat on the couch..
But here’s the thing; I like dogs, and cats, and most animals. Like em better than most people, most times. So even Snag’s Lucy was endearingly over-enthusiastic
(admittedly, I only had to endure her work for short periods of time; on a daily basis, maybe not so much. On the other stump, Paleo’s Jaxon is a fucking delight to share a back seat with, especially coming home drunk from First Avenue).
But, here’s what has changed: Me. Since the Event, I have been told in very direct terms by any number of Health professionals that I need to change my ways. Usually accompanied by some variation of “and you need to do this for the rest of your life” delivered in as dark a tone as they feel they can get away with in a health-care setting (which makes me kind of chuckle, as I am conversant with serious foreboding in stupid horror movies, until I remember they are are talking about ME). And one of the things they impressed on me is the need for daily exercise. “Unless you want to die” is the unsaid half of that dire warning.
So one of the things I did is bought an extensible leash (Lucifer likes to range) but she also like to work fast, so she maintains a decent pace. And in the summer, I went on many walks with her; the extensible allowed her to go up ahead, and to linger over smells, but only to an extent, because we needed to MAINTAIN A PACE, you foul beast…
And so now, whenever I get up and even make a motion toward the shoes, she gets excited. “Walks? Walks? WALKS WALKIES WALKIES” Sorry, you damn pathetic beast, I am going to work. In the oncoming fall, I have gotten back to my taekwondo family (instructor is also a cardiac therapist at the hospital that takes the REAL hard cases) and I joined a gym near my office where I can do an hour or so of mild, middle-aged style cardio. It’s gonna be winter…
But I have a partner, Wife Sublime. And she has been working crazy to make things happen for a large globe spanning corporate megalith that has also footed my bill for the recent Event, so I am hardly one to bitch. So today, I did laundry, i cooked, and went to the grocery, and I took Lucifer to the dog park. Made dinner, simple as it was.
Which she needed. (Both of them). But Lucifer needed some Dog Time. She gets restless. She is, as best we can tell, pretty much a pure-bred hound dog called a black mouth cur and we figure that she was abandoned by a puppy mill because she had a few white stripes across her snout. Yeah, we got her from a rescue situation, what did you expect?
She is now old enough that her snout is mostly white (as is my hair, let’s be plain) but she still needs much exercise and as a hound, she needs to sample the smells in the neighborhood. She also needs to run, and the dog park gives her some room. And many other friendly dogs (some overly friendly, we watched one mount another). Good doggy fun no matter, and she poops more than I really wanted.
She now likes me more than I expected, and the way she looks up at me when we walk on leash is heart-melting. It almost makes me forgive her for the way she yanks the shit out of my arm…
Dammit. I never expected Lucy, the orange, leaky-ass dog to be my avenue to being more healthy, let alone to being more composed. Dammit. This is what happened with the last damn dog.
Shit. I know how this ends.