Henry, in all his doggy wisdom, is able to differentiate between my jeans, my yoga pants, and my running pants. He waits for me at the bottom of the stairs. If I'm wearing jeans, he gives me his "well, crap" look and walks dejectedly back to his bed. Yoga pants offer some hope. His look says, "yes? no? yes? yes?" Usually I say, "No" and he walks back to his bed. Running pants... now they ignite excitement you just can't believe. His ears perk up. "Yes!" his face says. He knows the next important step is for me to get my shoes, so he hustles over to where I keep them and waits, very very impatiently. Once I get my shoes he knows it's on. This is about the time that John *loves* to really fire him up. "Are you going for a WALK Henry? A WALK!?" At which point Henry completely loses his shit and John loves it. He does donuts around the door, runs back and forth the length of the house and whimpers with unbridled excitement. I tell John to knock it off, but he thinks it's hilarious to get him all berserk like that. Then it's the leash and Henry is set free. If ever you want to see the pure epitome of joy, take Henry for a run. It's the best. Even on the days I'm not feeling in to it, because I'm sick or lazy or have so much to do, I'm always so glad when I take him out. His tongue lags out to the side, he chases birds and flying leaves, and I think he makes up adventures in his mind. Today was a run day. And it made me (and definitely him) happy.
No comments:
Post a Comment