Dog Tired

My family went for a run this weekend. It's always an event, and our dog is perhaps the most eager participant. There was a time when she was at the door, spinning circles in the entryway whenever I started lacing up my running shoes. She was ready to go even on those days when I was dragging myself out the door, after a hard day at work. For the first quarter mile she would be the one pulling me along, urging me up the hill, stopping only long enough to sniff this or mark that. In our earliest years together, we would sometimes make a threesome with my son in the jogging stroller, with my dog and I mushing along the streets and sidewalks of our neighborhood while the little prince rode safe and sound, watching the world go by.
That was a long time ago. These days it's just as hard to get myself up and out on the road, but I don't have my dog's enthusiasm to nudge me into getting my workout. She still comes over to check me out while I am stretching, but when it comes time to go out into the cold morning or the late afternoon, she would much rather return to her cushy bed in the living room. Or the office. Or next to our bed. Who could blame her? Conventional math tells us that she's somewhere in her late nineties in people years, so who could blame her if she wanted to take it easy? I'm about half that age, and I sometimes question the wisdom of trotting along the highways and byways. Is this really going to make me live longer?
But when my dog sees my wife putting her running shoes on, she knows the pace will be a little different. Those expeditions allow for a little slower pace. It's not a forced march with mom. It's more of a cardiovascular stroll. There are moments on these outings that she strains at the end of her leash, just like the good old days. This past Saturday we even stopped by the neighborhood park, where she performed some of her circus dog tricks. After a couple of trips down the corkscrew slide, she was ready to head back home. My dog and I have left knee surgery in common, and I imagine that the damp, chilly air was probably having the same effect on her joints that I was feeling in mine.
Sometimes I miss her when I go out on my runs alone, but she's always there, at the window or the top of the stairs, waiting. She's anxious to know if anything changed since the last time we ran around the block. Are there any new smells? Is that cat still hiding behind the fence around the corner? Is it dinner time yet?