The dog park. The place where when somebody says, "ahhh, he's so cute! How old is he?" They are always referring to Henry.
We haven't been making it there as often as we had before Owen was born. But I took Henry today as a special treat. Mainly because he hasn't been the best running buddy lately and as a result has had to sit out a few of our usual runs... Typically, I can get him out on the trail and take off his leash and he will run right next to my side, veering off here or there to sniff, but always rejoining me within seconds. For the last month or so, that has not been the case. I will let him off the leash and he will meander into the grass, where he will stay and sniff and gorge himself for upwards of five minutes. Whatever smells linger in the spring grass must be unbelievably enticing, because my well mannered dog cannot be bothered to obey at this time of year... I finally decided that he couldn't be off leash so I hooked him up but he gets so ticked that he reacts by running just a smidge slower than I run, which makes me tug what feels like dead weight the entire way. He looks up at me with pleading eyes that in essence say, "let me the eff off this leash, you mean lady." So though I felt like a traitor, I went on a few runs last week without him.
But today I wanted to get him out, so we trekked over to the Marymoor dog park -- aka: dog heaven. Seeing him run free and sniff all kinds of grass to his heart's content, made me happy.
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