Well, I haven’t done all that well with the exercising, but y’all know that from my blog. What? You haven’t been getting my daily, very funny, very pertinent, very consistent emails? Hmmm. That’s weird. I was sure I had worked out that telekinetic-blog-posting issue. I’d better call Bill Gates back.
I have been exercising (if you can call it that) at least 5 times a week (really 3-4) for the past couple months (ok, two weeks). But not for myself; for my dog. Brutus is my Chocolate Labrador/Chesapeake Bay Retriever. He’s a hefty 103 pounds, but shouldn’t be anywhere near that. He was limping and not wanting to put any weight on his back legs so I took him to the vet. She said its arthritis. He’s almost 7, which is like 40-50 in people years. So we got the doggie equivalent to Advil, I put him on Joint Supplements, and made a promise to get some of that excessive weight off. We’ve been taking him for walks every Mon, Wed, Fri and then either Sat or Sun. He enjoys the walk back home the most and practically takes off in a dead sprint when he sees the gate. He then lays in front of his water bowl panting for the next two hours. Soon he is laying in a puddle of drinking water, drool and dirt from his coat. Lovely…
Riley enjoys the walks too. He can choose from either of two modes of transportation: his “mow” (a kiddo 4-Wheeler) or walking. Now, the mow ain’t playing around. That baby goes 5 miles an hour, up hills, over rocks (and the occasional Brutus or mom), and he’s good at it. Riley is an excellent, albeit a little reckless, driver. He swerves out of the way of oncoming traffic (i.e. trees or toys laying in the yard) and does this really cool skidding-to-a-stop thing where he spins halfway around. If he walks, he gets to eat a popsicle, which means that I get to carry a WetWipe and a slimy, sticky popsicle stick 2/3rds of the trip, without the benefit of having eaten that sticky popsicle.
Jordan still tends to groan when I answer “yes” to his question “is it a walk night?” I am getting less and less resistance though. I think he has given up and resigned himself to the fact that for 30 minutes every other night he will be walked by the dog, run over by Riley and talked to death by me, instead of watching football. I try to get him to run sometimes, but he’s usually got an excuse (too tired, too sick, too hot.) Wuss. I do always laugh though when he breaks out into a professional runner’s jog about 40 yards from the house. He whips into the driveway with Brutus like he just ran a marathon.
What do I get out of these walks? I get to talk Jordan’s ear off about interesting things I learned about on NPR. Yesterday it was about Netflix’s stupid new Qwikster, which I am none too pleased about, and the Buffett Principal (or Rule or Whatever) about how rich people shouldn’t pay less taxes than middle class people. (Seems like a no-brainer.) He doesn’t often have anything to contribute to the conversation (being a guy and all), but I like just being next to him. I also get to hold hands with my kiddo for a mile because sometime in the future he will be too big or too cool to hold my hand. I’ll take the sticky popsicle fingers anytime.
The highlight of my trip though, is the bats. Right at dusk, on the way back to the house, the swallows retire for the night and the bats come out. I guess they live in the pine trees, since that’s where they seem to come from. I get such a thrill out of watching them swoop down in front and behind us, snatching bugs out of the air. Their movements are so fast and swift Riley looses track of them easily. He gets a little nervous, but always asks for “more bats.” (On a side note, when I worked at a zoo, I was surrounded by a 100+ bats on a regular basis. They don’t ick me out in the slightest. I’m cool like that.)
So we all get something out of it, one way or another. Whether it’s peeing on mailboxes, eating a popsicle, holding a hand, or enjoying a 15 second jog, the important thing is the family time. And seeing the bats, of course. Love those bats.