Tag: Zeke

Running. Man and Running Dog.

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vizsla,dog,cute,animal,photography

6:50 am. 67F. 87% humidity. Mom’s gone for the weekend visiting family.  Zeke’s not happy.  Mom walks him every day.  Every single day.  Three times a day.  2 1/2 hours a day.  Daily routine – I wave to them from the couch as they head out the door.  This morning, he’s out of sync.  Discombobulated.  He sees me gearing up for a run.  He scrambles into his cage and lies down.  He’s knows what’s coming.  I grab him by his collar and drag him out of his cage.  He snarls, baring his teeth.  (I don’t need this sh*t. I don’t want to go either but we’re going.  Pure Bred Running Dog who hates running.  Owner is carrying him to the car.  What a picture this is.  He looks me in the eye – not a happy look.  I glare back.)  I shift his weight to my left and pull him tightly to my chest to free up my right hand.  I reach for the door handle of the car.  And, pull my lower back.  And grimace.  Oh, boy.  I open the door.  Heave him into the back seat.  And curse.

I fire up the car.  Shift uncomfortably in the seat.  Lower back.  Hmmmmm.

I back the car out of the garage.  Zeke climbs from the back seat to the front.  And starts licking my face.  “Sit down.  No bloody kisses.“ (He knows that I’m pi**ed.) He sits down in the passenger seat. His seat.  And sulks.

And we’re off.  Mianus Park. Plan: 5-Mile Trail Run. We arrive at the Park, leash up, and walk through the entrance.  He pulls back on the leash and lies down on the bridge.  He will not move.  He will not accept a treat.  (Oh, yes.  A test of wills.  Just what I need.)

Another dog owner walks by.  One older German Shepard Mix.  Another is a happy looking mutt with tail wagging furiously.  (Did she just give me that look?  Like, how’s that pure bred workin’ out for ya?)

I stop pulling on his leash.  He’s now lounging, looking down at the river below.  (How many shades of humiliation are there?)

I decide to pull a Mom and talk nicely to him.  “Come on buddy.  Let’s go for a nice walk in the woods.  Come on.  Let’s go.”  (Oh, for God’s sake.  I can’t do this.  Is this what I’ve come to?  Man-up.  206 lbs of fighting machine against this 70 lb beast and he’s got the upper hand.  No chance.)

I look at him.  He looks up at me.  His tail swishing on the bridge deck.  (Is he smiling? Could this be funny?)

“You are going to come.  Right now. And run.”  (Our last visit to this Park was not a great show.  And an Elephant never forgets.  And this one has a plan.  I will not let him off leash to have him lie down in the grass at the bottom of the hill forcing me to back track.  No sir.  Not me.  I will drag him for five miles, if that’s what it takes.) Continue reading “Running. Man and Running Dog.” →

Who’s the King?

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bed

I sneak a peak at the clock. 2:30 am. Early, even for me.

I’m teetering inches from the edge of the bed. Drifting in and out of consciousness.

I can hear his breathing. It’s too hot for him to sleep at our feet, under the covers, a winter pastime. So, he’s up on the pillows. This was cute as a puppy. Beastly now at 67 lbs. And he’s a leaner. On your legs. On your back. On whatever is in the way. But lean he must.

He dreams. He’s running. His paws and legs kicking. Faster. Faster. Faster. A bear pawing a tree, roughly ripping slabs of bark and digging his claws into its sinews. Or me.

Enough. Bleary eyed I grab my pillow and get up. He’s watching me warily and emits a low growl. He remembers our weak kneed attempts at re-training to have him sleep on the floor. That ended badly. For us.

I trudge up to the attic.

I toss. I turn. I toss. I turn. 3:00 am. Hopeless. I can’t settle. Doesn’t feel right.

I waddle back downstairs. Linus with his pillow and blanky in tow.
I crawl back into bed. He turns. Licks my face. Rolls over. And leans against my back.

I gently lean back into him.

Damn dog.

Image Source: Themetapicture.com

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Merry Christmas

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Good morning and Merry Christmas!  As I was getting up this morning, I crossed paths with the kids who were just going to bed.  Instead of the kids hovering around the tree at 5am waiting for Mom and Dad to get up, there was Zeke…locked in on his Christmas stocking.  (Of course, Zeke has to have his own stocking.  Of course it’s monogrammed with his name.) Our bird hunting dog won’t hunt birds, he won’t retrieve tennis balls, he’s scared of cats and the dark, but that nose knows precisely where his treats are.  He wouldn’t break his stare for the first photo.  And after telling him that he had to wait for Rachel and Eric to get up before he could get at his stocking, his shoulders slumped, he dropped to the floor and cried “no fair.”

So, Zeke and I played loops of Sean Quiqley’s Little Drummer Boy at a HIGH decibel level.  Hoping that the kids would eventually roll out of bed and we can get this party rollin’.

Continue reading “Merry Christmas” →