Dog Jog 2005 excuses

I'm a philosophical dog.

Today I attended the U of Wisconsin Vet School Dog Jog for the seventh time. Each fall, this event provides an opportunity for dogs and their owners to meet each other, compliment each other on their beauty (but apparently only if you're a bluetick coonhound), enjoy the once-scenic campus, and get a little exercise. What's important is that everyone enjoy themselves and have good, clean fun. Everyone's a winner at this fine event. It's not the competition, it's the togetherness.

This is a way of saying that I didn't do too well this year.

Mom thinks she and I came in about sixth place in the women's division. Usually we get to stand on the podium after the race, where we get a trophy and a bag of treats. That didn't happen this year. However, I did get some treats from the local pet food store booth, anyway, so I guess it's OK.

Dad and Juno were also in the rac--err, event. That fat slob of a sister led much of the way. (If you don't think she's a slob, take a look at this picture of her taken after the run.) But what counts is who crosses the finish line first, eh, Juno? And Mom and I crossed a good 25 seconds before Dad and Juno. Ha!

But I'm a big-hearted dog, so I won't rub it in. As a matter of fact, I kind of felt sorry for Juno. She "hit the wall" toward the end of the, ahhh, activity, and was reduced to a slow walk in the last hundred feet. The crowd cheered her lustily, and she recovered soon enough afterwards.

A philosophical dog such as myself doesn't make excuses. But in the interests of scientific accuracy, I should tell you the circumstances surrounding the disappoi--err, different-than-expected results.

Mom has a bit of a cold, and had spent all day Friday picking cranberries in a bog. So, she wasn't at her best. It was hot, which isn't the best for certain thickly-furred dogs. (That didn't prevent me from taking off like a rocket at the beginning, though.) Juno has been taking 80mg of phenobarbital twice a day, and it has slowed her down. Dad has been fighting various aches and pains, but overall he wasn't too badly off.

And the competition--I mean the other members of our joyful Dog Jog fellowship--seemed particularly good this year. One woman would have looked completely at home toeing the line in the Olympic 1500 meter finals.

I can't wait until next year. I am really looking forward to beating--I mean greeting--those other dogs next time!

Pulled muscle

Oh, woe is me. I hurt my right arm yesterday, so today I was not able to compete in the local Ironman Triathlon.

I guess I pulled a muscle jumping off the couch yesterday morning before going for a walk. But I didn't really have a problem during the hour and forty-five minutes we were walking. And when we got home, I played furiously in the pool. When the water level is low the way is has been lately, I love to porpoise (jump around) in the water and bark and bark and bark. Sometimes Dad tells me to be quiet, so I pipe down for 15 seconds or so. When Mom says to be quiet, I know I don't have to take her seriously.

But later in the day yesterday, I was really limping. I knew that this was going to put the kibosh on my triathlon plans.

Now, this isn't the Ironman triathlon in Hawaii, of course. It's the Madison, Wisconsin version run by the same organization. If it had been the Hawaii Ironman, I would have done a little preparation for it--maybe practiced some ocean swimming, or learned how to ride a bike. But a big, strong, healthy dog like myself doesn't need to worry about local competition. My nearly-daily swimming routine and natural talent should certainly carry the day on the first leg of the triathlon. On the last leg, well, I got a second-place trophy in the Dog Jog last year, so it stands to reason that I should be the second-fastest runner in the triathlon. As for the cycling leg, well, if Dad can bicycle, it can't be that hard. I figured I'd borrow one of his bikes--maybe the cool orange one--and learn on the the morning of the race.

But now I'm going to be sidelined--out of the running altogether. Maybe it's just as well. Today the temperature is going to go up to 92 degrees, and I don't mind admitting that I find that uncomfortable. I can't take off my double-layer fur coat for the run.

Now I'm worried about Dog Jog next weekend. Will my injury have healed by then? My trainer, Mom, doesn't know the meaning of the word "rest". I have a feeling I'll be putting in some serious miles this week, leading up to the race. No pain, no gain.

Stay tuned.