That’s what I ask myself this morning. I start to walk with good intentions… and the dogs are already almost a football field ahead of me. The route is well known; we do it daily. It’s a little over a mile. However, within less than a half-mile… I suddenly decide I’d had enough.
Instead of continuing walking the road, I cross to the vacant lot and head back to the car. I’m not tired nor out of breath. I don’t feel dizzy or experience any physical pain. I am curious. Will Bernie and Chris notice my absence?
I think they will. I fully expect them to run back to me. As I plod along, I listen for them. Because it’s so peaceful and quiet out here, I expect to hear Bernie’s breathing. I never hear Chris. In fact, he is like a shadow. Chris simply soundlessly shows.
Chris cocks his head and quizzes me. “Is this a new game?”
I feel good Chris comes without my blowing the dog whistle. Without looking around, I know Bernie is nearby. It’s another hundred feet to the car. By the time I arrive, both dogs are there. I say nothing while putting the trek poles in the car and open the back door.
Usually, Chris waits for Bernie and then flies inside. Today, Chris sails into the back seat. Left outside, Bernie starts his routine. A reluctant pause, making a double-swing of his head to check his massive body clearance. Then laboriously launches himself─making sure both hind legs touch the running board for his required additional assistance.
With both dogs safely inside, I shut the door, hoist myself up on the driver seat and settle in for the trip home. Our normal forty-five-minute exercise period only lasted fifteen minutes.
I’m still not understanding my attitude. It’s like I’ve given up for no reason.