I run with A-Dog a few times during the week. I can hardly stay inside my skin when I know she’s getting ready for a run and I might be going too. She used to take me every time, but as I grow older, I’m not allowed to go every day.
Recently, my body started to rebel. I would run a mile and begin to limp. Of course, I wouldn’t stop unless A-Dog did. Even with a day of rest in between runs, I would still limp. She said it was hard to tell which leg was affected and after a few days of little improvement, we had to go to Dogdom’s unspeakable four letter word: the vet.
No need to go into details on that horror, but if any dogs out there want to share a better place to hide than the human leg tunnel, I’m all silky ears.
My diagnosis was arthritis — a mild case that can be treated with medication. I started with a quarter pill, twice a day. After two weeks, my dose is now a quarter pill once a day. I am in awe that such a small bit of medicine can make such a difference. (Although, hearing the humans trying to break that little pill into four pieces is hilarious. Watch the language, people!)
I am back to running every other day to a maximum of 3 miles. I’m grateful and hopeful that I can do it for the rest of my life.
Category Archives: running
Old Lady
In the Doghouse
Originally published 11-12-08
The humans are so angry.
I can’t help myself… I’m a dirty dog.
Me and A-Dog have been out running for the past couple weeks. She takes me places where I can run free (as long as no one is there), because I run too fast for her. When she’s holding the leash, I need to summon all my patience to “run” at her pace. She lets me off when the coast is clear and we each do our own thing. That’s where I run into trouble.
As I’ve mentioned, dogs like things that smell. We don’t make a good or bad judgment about the smell; it’s just smell. I lose my mind a little in the presence of decomposition. You can snap me out of almost anything with the promise of a treat, but not when I smell poor little mousy, three days gone. I get a smell, then a smear, and if I’m really lucky, a roll. That’s when the shouting starts. It’s usually my name and NO! and COME NOW! This is my third mouse in as many weeks, so the words coming out of A-Dog’s mouth were a bit different. She was speaking so fast and loudly that all I heard was “gonna kick your barking a**!”
Needless to say, that didn’t happen. I got a bath and a fresh collar (the smear is always on my neck, like a fine perfume) and a lot of attitude from A-Dog. I’m acting as contrite as possible, but it looks like no ears rubs in my future.
So why? Why do we rub ourselves in death with such passion? The ancient instinct to mark our discovery to the pack is one theory. Masking our odor for hunting is another. Whatever the reason, I don’t think about doing it. I just do. And I only remember that I’m not supposed to do it, until after it’s done.
What can you take away from this? Either accept it as natural dog behavior or keep me on the leash and run faster. Here endeth the doggie lesson – woof!
