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My Poor Dog

June 13, 2013



As busy as I’ve been lately, it’s been really tough to find time out of my schedule to spend time with my best friend, Timbit – or Timmy for short.  Ironically, he was aptly named ‘Timbit’ before he was bought and picked up from a small town called Starbuck, but that’s a whole other story.

With the weather been as rainy and down as it has been the past month coupled with the amount of focus I’ve had to put towards the night classes my job has so forcefully thrown on me, I haven’t been able to get out and really RUN to train for the marathon.  Previously, I would never take the dog on runs with me as he’s just too small to make the distances I could endure, but since I’m fully out of the loop now, I decided to bring his tiny behind with me for a final jaunt before I fall down dead on race day.  And thats when I realized how horrible a doggy daddy I am.

Having him leashed up to a sweaty slow mans arm is one thing, but when you really see the perspective of a dog when he’s on a walk with you, you start to really sympathize with him.  For instance, he has to slow down to MY pace.  A pace which a virtual tease to a creature who just wants to take off and be free to do his 60MpH while he pees on everything in sight.  However, tethered to me he’s burdened by my sluggishly slow human meat sack of a body.  I’m sweating just thinking about it.

Also, whenever we pass another dog, we’re inclined to cinch up slightly on the leash to prevent the dogs from what we think could be a possible confrontation when in reality, they’re just amazed that there are more of its kind out past the confining cell walls of what we call our homes.  I thought about that after, how if it were me tied to a giant creature out on a forced jog and I happened to stumble across another person, my first instinct would be to shout out a greeting and want to run up to make simple contact.  And here we are yelling at our dogs to shut up and quit barking and keep our sluggishly slow pace.

And of course, the bathroom breaks.  He must think at this point I’m a complete asshole when he’s trying to tell me he has to stop for a pee break meanwhile I’m tugging on the leash because all I see is him sniffing everything he comes across.  Seriously, I’m so sadly out of tune with him I unfortunately put him through something which is so sad – yet in hind sight also terribly hilarious.  I had finally found my pace, and he was dragging behind.

No literally, actually dragging.  When I finally looked back to see what the deuce he was doing, it turned out to be exactly that.  He was pooping.

I felt horrible as I watched him run on three legs, with one hind leg sticking straight up in the air, while he both pooped and impressively moved forward at a fair speed.  You could almost measure the speed-to-embarassment ratio based on the distance between his turds.


However not all is lost, I’ve learned a good lesson out of this – I need to take the little bugger on MORE than one walk a month.  Or more realistically a year.  Also, I’ve learned we’re both out of shape.  Being the tiny dog that he is, I always saw him more as a house pup with mild backyard action, but the reality is he really needs to get out more and see the world that he doesn’t even realize exists.  So that’s really it.  He needs my help.

My name is Matt, and I’m a horrible dog father.

One Comment
  1. You should bring Timbit over for a doggy date. Sam can wear him out while we supervise (drink) on the deck!

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