Dog in the Oven

Based on yesterday's post footnote, many of you speculated that Mrs. Nitmos had a bun in the oven. She felt so strongly about this she even made her thrice yearly appearance in the comments section to dispel this rumor. Rest assured, I am no longer allowed to have children. Physically, I remain as vigorous and prolific as ever (oh yeah!). However, Mrs. Nitmos, certain local and state laws, and various parenting groups have all coalesced around prohibiting me from, as they say, “inflicting any more damage onto the world.”

No, no bun in the oven. More like a dog in the bun. Or a dog in the oven. That is, we have a new dog. Some of you may remember we lost our last family dog in November.

She is every bit the pissing, whining, and licking machine you would expect for an 8 week old Brittany spaniel.

Introducing….Bella Nova.

Taking a cue from Brangelina and Madonna, we did an international adoption here. She’s Canadian, bred just outside of London, Ontario, but we’re trying not to hold her universal health care against her. She’s lucky she’s not male. With the Red Wings winning the championship, her name would have been Stanley (no matter what Mrs. Nitmos says.)

The wife and kids took her for her first ½ mile loop around my neighborhood. Between all the itching, laying in the grass and general insubordination, Garmin said she finished in 29:10. Not good. We’ll need to do better than 58 minutes per mile. This will be our summer baseline from which to start.

My daughter is going ape shit crazy with the new puppy. We have to physically separate her from Bella so the poor dog can get some sleep. And when the dog falls asleep on the floor, my daughter stands over her and stares asking over and over again “When is she going to wake up? When is she going to wake up?”

Here she is too tired to wait any longer.

The next few weeks will be busy around our place. There’ll be lots of discipline, begging for needs, and licking. And then we’ll have to deal with the dog too. (insert rim shot here).

Happy trails.
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Have you ever gone running while wearing 3 pairs of socks, snow pants and four woolly sweaters? I swear I just did. It was so darn humid on Sunday my planned "hard"10 miler became an easier sweat soaked 7 miler. If it's true that I'm full of piss and vinegar, it all come out through the pores on Sunday.

7.0 miles
49:18
7:03 pace