When I first met Max he was 3.5 years old, and had two settings: sound asleep and totally out of control. He'd been to obedience school but really had no time for such matters: he got the lowest grade in the whole class. So within that first week of us getting to know each other, he decided to pull a prank on me. I had the front door open so I could take out the bin, and while my back was turned, the neighbour kid opened the front gate. "Excuse me ma'am, could I get a job mowing your lawn?" He was about 11 and perpetually carried a basketball under one arm, while looking very serious so as to secure lucrative business deals. Anyway, Max took the opportunity to bust out the door and abscond down the street while yelling something about Shawshank, and I left the neighbour kid standing there with his basketball and the opportunity to rob us to race barefoot and screaming after Max. (The kiddo was super apologetic, and stood guard to make sure no one else robbed us during the adventure.) Max may not be an intellectual heavyweight, but he does have a sense of humour. He would bolt down the street 30 meters, stop, look over his shoulder, wait for me to catch up a bit, and...just when I think I might be closing in, bolt off again. In and out of traffic. Millimetres from the bumpers of moving vehicles. Which then turned into stopped vehicles because we created a traffic jam. Hilarious!
So this barefoot sprinting/screaming/arms waving/traffic stopping/public nuisance hilarity went on for 4 blocks until Max got himself to the park and let me catch him. Wasn't that fun Mumma Lynna? Huh? Huh? Are you proud of me? Are you? Huh? No Max, no I am not.
Anyway, the only way to get him home was to carry him. 4 blocks of 14 kg later, and I had very tired arms.
Fast forward to today. Max is 8 years old and has a much more nuanced ability to control his energy. I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk this afternoon; his ears perked up and he looked excited. So on goes the lead (and the harness, and the safety bubble suit with hazard lights and sirens) and down the street we go.
Max's usual walking procedure includes pulling on the lead like a sled dog at the beginning of the walk, but the lead becomes progressively slackened as he gets tired and gives into rollie pollies in people's lawns and sniffing stuff. However, as Max went for 2! walks yesterday, today he was not firing on all cylinders, and the rollie pollies and slackened lead started at the end of the block. But he seemed to be enjoying himself and I wasn't in a hurry, so we kept going. He can mosey around and sniff stuff.
Wellll...the sniffing and rollie pollie breaks were getting longer and longer, and eventually he just stopped moving all together. We were almost home! We could see our house! But he didn't care. Just stood there on the sidewalk and looked at me and gave up. "yeah lady? So whatcha gonna do about it? I'm done!"
Once again, I carried him home.
He still weighs 14 kg (30 lbs), but my arms weren't bothered at all! So ignoring the pitiful fact that I had to carry the dog on a dog walk, woohoo! FItness in action! NSV!!
Incidentally, in the 4.5 years between these two occasions, I purchased a variety of weights. And yes, I usually do bicep curls with...that's right, you guessed it...7 kg per arm = 14 kg total = 1 Max sized unit of resistance all up.
(I was worried all the walks might've broken him, but he gobbled down a pig ear and then ran around the yard yelling like crazy. He's fine. Just didn't want to move during the designated time. He's currently lying on my feet and barking in his sleep. Good boy Max, good boy.)
NSV: reining in the rogue rover
When I first met Max he was 3.5 years old, and had two settings: sound asleep and totally out of control. He'd been to obedience school but really had no time for such matters: he got the lowest grade in the whole class. So within that first week of us getting to know each other, he decided to pull a prank on me. I had the front door open so I could take out the bin, and while my back was turned, the neighbour kid opened the front gate. "Excuse me ma'am, could I get a job mowing your lawn?" He was about 11 and perpetually carried a basketball under one arm, while looking very serious so as to secure lucrative business deals. Anyway, Max took the opportunity to bust out the door and abscond down the street while yelling something about Shawshank, and I left the neighbour kid standing there with his basketball and the opportunity to rob us to race barefoot and screaming after Max. (The kiddo was super apologetic, and stood guard to make sure no one else robbed us during the adventure.) Max may not be an intellectual heavyweight, but he does have a sense of humour. He would bolt down the street 30 meters, stop, look over his shoulder, wait for me to catch up a bit, and...just when I think I might be closing in, bolt off again. In and out of traffic. Millimetres from the bumpers of moving vehicles. Which then turned into stopped vehicles because we created a traffic jam. Hilarious!
So this barefoot sprinting/screaming/arms waving/traffic stopping/public nuisance hilarity went on for 4 blocks until Max got himself to the park and let me catch him. Wasn't that fun Mumma Lynna? Huh? Huh? Are you proud of me? Are you? Huh? No Max, no I am not.
Anyway, the only way to get him home was to carry him. 4 blocks of 14 kg later, and I had very tired arms.
Fast forward to today. Max is 8 years old and has a much more nuanced ability to control his energy. I asked him if he wanted to go for a walk this afternoon; his ears perked up and he looked excited. So on goes the lead (and the harness, and the safety bubble suit with hazard lights and sirens) and down the street we go.
Max's usual walking procedure includes pulling on the lead like a sled dog at the beginning of the walk, but the lead becomes progressively slackened as he gets tired and gives into rollie pollies in people's lawns and sniffing stuff. However, as Max went for 2! walks yesterday, today he was not firing on all cylinders, and the rollie pollies and slackened lead started at the end of the block. But he seemed to be enjoying himself and I wasn't in a hurry, so we kept going. He can mosey around and sniff stuff.
Wellll...the sniffing and rollie pollie breaks were getting longer and longer, and eventually he just stopped moving all together. We were almost home! We could see our house! But he didn't care. Just stood there on the sidewalk and looked at me and gave up. "yeah lady? So whatcha gonna do about it? I'm done!"
Once again, I carried him home.
He still weighs 14 kg (30 lbs), but my arms weren't bothered at all! So ignoring the pitiful fact that I had to carry the dog on a dog walk, woohoo! FItness in action! NSV!!
Incidentally, in the 4.5 years between these two occasions, I purchased a variety of weights. And yes, I usually do bicep curls with...that's right, you guessed it...7 kg per arm = 14 kg total = 1 Max sized unit of resistance all up.
(I was worried all the walks might've broken him, but he gobbled down a pig ear and then ran around the yard yelling like crazy. He's fine. Just didn't want to move during the designated time. He's currently lying on my feet and barking in his sleep. Good boy Max, good boy.)