The other night I was taking the Kylie on our evening walk and she kept jerking ahead. Someone needs to teach that damn dog how to heel.
After about five minutes of her shit and being tired of it, I decided to run for a bit.
Now's about as good a time as any to mention I don't run. Like, at all. I jiggle enough as-is, running is like Santa's wiggly laugh on steroids and bringing new meaning to "I don't think you're ready for this jelly."
So I decide, just 20 steps. I'll run for 20 steps. That will be enough to make the dog mind.
On step 18 I decided, hey! This is fun! Let's go for another 20!
On step 37 I decided, easy peasy! Let's go some more!
On step 60 I decided, okay, we're good here. Let's walk.
The puppy? She didn't mind. She enjoyed the running. Of course she did, damn dog.
After walking a minute or two, I decided to run another 60 steps. After two more minutes, I did it again. Then rinse, repeat, and do again for 30 minutes.
By then, I was dragging that damn dog.
The next day I was amazingly euphoric. My chest, legs, hips and arms (arms? WTF?) fucking huuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrttttt.