Where have I been, you ask? Why, I've been doing my new workout routine. Thanks for asking.
What is this new workout, you ask? Why, it's dog chasing, sprint division. It's free. No gym membership required.
How have you not ever heard of this, you ponder? I've got a little white Bichon Poo for you to borrow. THEN you will understand this new Olympic event.
(I want to refer to Rosita as a "Boodle, not a Bichon Poo." Boodle sounds so much more fun.)
Rosita has learned the fine art of "escape and dash." Once gone, she's a blur on the move. There is no stopping her. Dang, she is FAST. Even our neighbor has mentioned her speed.....
I'm sure the neighbors are quite entertained as I'm running across their lawns--in flip flops and boxer shorts--yelling "GOD DAMMIT, ROSITA!" (at 5 AM, no less). It's a lengthy process, despite it being a sprint.
Hmmm. Maybe it's more of a cross-country event. Whatever it is, it's fast and furious.
How did she get away this morning, you chastise? Well, let me tell you. We were at the front door, seeing as everyone had done their duty (four legged duties, not my duty). The door is open, I bend over to take her leash and collar off, as I always do, she steps as if she's walking into the house and.....
BAM! She streaks around my legs and is G.O.N.E.
Have you ever tried to catch a dog that doesn't know its name? It's not fun. I'm not sure why I bother yelling Rosita's name because she is clueless in that department.
If she had had her collar on, I wouldn't have been so angered. But, seeing as I was holding her leash and collar, it was time to dog-n-dash.
Rosita, that naughty tidbit, is NOT running around in a blur because I am chasing her. She's not even aware I'm chasing her. Rosita is on the hunt to catch the rabbits of which she thinks have run by.
Poor Bandido. She got dragged along for today's dog-n-dash. Thankfully, she is fast, too.
Trust me when I say I move mighty fast for someone wearing flip flops, holding a flashlight and dragging a chorkie around.
(Side note: Bandido, we've decided, is a chorkie--a chihuahua/Yorkshire Terrier mix. We googled photos and saw a few dogs that looked like her twin, so we're feeling pretty confident...although, a few other mixes are definitely involved.)
Thank goodness I carry a flashlight and that the dog is white. At least I can keep track of her while I'm running, yelling and swearing.
When I finally did catch her--which took a lot of swearing and a lot of running through grass, brush and mulch--I picked her up and took her home. No sense in yelling at her.
Trust me when I say I took her all the way inside this time. I can't do two dog-n-dashes in the same morning.
The wife wants to know why Rosita was looking a little less tidy this morning--she is dirty and scruffy. (The wife was in the shower when this Olympic event took place.) I made sure to emphasize that we were at the front door when ol' Flash decided to make her move. I wasn't taking the fall for this one. I tell her that it's tough to stay clean when you've been in the brush.
I'm not looking too spiffy, either. I would not be surprised if I end up finding a tick on my being or if I end up with poison ivy. I'm telling you, I was knee deep in grass at times and burrowing through brush at others. There were prickers in my hair.
We do have another Olympic canine event, if you are interested. It's called the shit-and-sit. Ask the wife. The dogs shat all over her birthday earlier in the week. Literally. A kitchen blessed with diarrhea from two dogs is delightful and the perfect homemade birthday present.
I'm not sure which workout I like better. My guess is that the neighbors wish I'd stick to the shit-and-sit. It's quieter--for them, anyway. The wife isn't entertained by either.
Although we are champions at these canine sports, it is safe to say none of us in this house will be getting Olympic medals from the wife....
....or, the neighbors. No medals from the neighbors, either. Perhaps a video posted but no memos.
I'd tell you more but I have to go wash my feet. They are itching like crazy. I may have to be put on the dog-n-dash injured reserve for the time being. I can stay on the field for the shit-n-sit, though.
Put me in coach. I'm ready to play.
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