My Dog is Most Definitely Canadian

Yesterday afternoon was beautiful; it was about 83 degrees, sunny, low humidity, with the occasional breeze. So when I got home from my cube I quickly changed clothes with Russ sitting as patiently as a puppy can sit when he knows he’s about to go for walk!!! eeeeee!!!!! yay a walk!!!!! holy cow!!!

And we headed out. He was excellent, not pulling or straining, unlike the day before when we went with Ryan to the stream (I’ll post about that later as soon as I get my lazy self to upload the pictures. Or convince Ryan to do it.). We went on a slightly different route than we usually take, and Russ got to meet some new dogs, a beautiful border collie, and some sort of Brittany Terrier. We ran a bit, walked a bit. About a half hour in, as we were passing under a big shady tree, Russ plopped down. He just sprawled out on the cool grass, panting, so I gave him some water and sat with him in some stranger’s yard for a few minutes. Then we got up and kept moving towards home.

Then, another cool shade tree, another plop on the grass. Then another and another. I don’t think my dog likes the heat that much. Maybe it is the double thick coat, maybe he’s just innately Canadian and he cannot understand way anyone would want to walk around in such ungodly sunshine and heat without a cool body of water nearby. I even imagine him speaking to me with a Canadian accent.

I felt so bad for his hairy butt. I gave him an entire bottle of water, and he just kept looking at me like, “Dude, are you seriously gonna make me continue this nonsense?” And I kept saying, “We’re almost there buddy, almost there.” When we did get home, he drank about a gallon of water and collapsed on the coolest spot of floor he could find, panting and sprawled. Poor dead-animal smellin’ breath guy.

I can’t wait to do it again today!