Decaf Dog

This is our dog, Bella.

She’s a great dog if not a tad on the energetic side. If, that is, “tad” is defined as “constantly pacing the house and sticking her nose into anything that moves, doesn’t move, or thinks it might want to move some day.” I believe she thinks she is a shark. If she stops moving, she dies. Seriously, I get tired just watching the dog roam about the house.

Try walking across the room and you’ll get a wet nose jabbing you in the back of the legs. Leave a food wrapper unattended? It’ll be in her mouth within 10 seconds flat. Forget stuffed toys. She rips them apart in five minutes. And one day she decided to eat a two inch section of wood off the bottom of my slider door. Fortunately, she seemed to pass it okay. I can only imagine what a naturally hyper dog with a colon splinter would be like. Do they make tweezers for that?

The slider door seems to bear the brunt of her attention. It’s the window to the outside world, apparently provides tasty treats, and the object of her tongue licking affection. We were concerned that the slider may ask for a restraining order due to all the molestation it has received. But, no, when it came to us it only wanted a jar of peanut butter. Not sure what that means.

She’s a nine month old Brittany spaniel pup. And you would be right if you think I considered naming her “Britney” and getting a second dog to name “K-Fed”. The thought crossed. But I didn’t want that level of lameness and general douchebaggery in my house. The Us magazines would get jealous.

So we’ve been patiently waiting out her puppy months and the promises of a more content and relaxed dog. We’ve also been less patiently waiting out winter so she can return to her futile butterfly chase for hours on end in the backyard.

This past weekend, she came racing up the stairs and sat staring at me in much the same way she is doing in the picture above. Mouth agape. Panting. A ball of anxious potential energy. Now, I’m huge in the canine world. I’m the Hasselhoff of German Shepherds. The Jerry Lewis of French Poodles. Besides Mrs. Nitmos, I’m not popular amongst common, human females but I’m beloved by fawning, tongue lolling dogs. Hell, sometimes they even chase me down the street when I run by. I feel like a regular Beatle. And not George Harrison either.

This time, however, Bella had a slightly crazed look in her eye. She was really panting heavily. Her eyes were darting with my every movement. In fact, I think her eyes were getting to the destination of my next motion before I actually got there myself. I was changing into my running clothes at the time. Naturally, I thought sure, I’m crazy sexy but this is a bit ridiculous.

I went downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve Garmin with Bella rapidly nose bumping my calves all the way. Sure enough, there in her water bowl was a full bowl of discarded coffee grounds. Caffeinated coffee grounds. She had pulled it from the top of the trash next to her bowl and dumped it into her water. And then lapped up the water. Basically, she mainlined some Starbuck’s Breakfast Blend. And then, I can only imagine, subconsciously disappeared into a frenetic super galactic freak out that caused her brain to spin counter-clockwise at 400 rpms and her eyes to see the world through a kaleidoscope of neon colors.

I tried to work her through it like I remember folks doing for me in college. That is, I put on some Jimi Hendrix and settled her down on a bean bag chair with a black light.

When that didn’t work, I took her for a run around the block.

My shoulder is now slightly dislocated but that seemed to work. She calmed down a bit and returned to licking the slider glass until I returned from my run. By then, I was happy, Bella was happy, and the slider door seemed relieved.

But we need to buy more peanut butter. Again.

Happy trails.
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I braved the 15 degree temps and snow covered sidewalks to knock out 8 miles Monday night and 3.6 miles Tuesday night. Both runs were at a winter induced pace of 8 mins per mile. I don’t believe I’ve run a mile at an 8 minute pace since, roughly, 2003. And, as an added bonus, I leaped through a foot of snow in various sections of the path, like a deer fleeing from a hunter, to get in a little cross training as well. God bless the snow plow drivers who come after the sidewalk plowers.

It’ll be 5 degrees today. And 0 degrees tomorrow.

And God bless winter.