My sweat glands are in working condition, which is a huge relief now that the weather seems to be taking a turn for the hot.
After four miles I was certain that I was excreting enough sweat to fill a swimming pool and it was painful.
(But no so painful that I couldn’t manage a sweaty selfie to show you that my hair grows upward exponentially when I run.)
I got out this morning a bit later than usual because Oldest is now home in the mornings since his summer school art class ended yesterday. The only problem is that I forgot to eat my oatmeal beforehand because I was too busy reading about the latest shootings in the morning newspaper. If I hadn’t had these energy drops tucked away in my glove box I would not have been able to finish my run.
But I wanted to run at least ten miles get out my angst because Charlie had a very traumatic day yesterday.
His first round of stress began with this guy, a Paper Mache Tasmanian Devil that Oldest made and brought home from his art class yesterday.
As soon as he put it into the car, Charlie went bonkers. He barked at it the entire way home.
When we got home I put the thing in the backyard thinking they could work things out, you know, dog to inanimate art sculpture? I even tried to get a picture with the two of them together.
However, Charlie continued to bark and run in circles.
The boys were fascinated by the fact that Charlie was threatened by a Paper Mache Tasmanian Devil, so they wanted me to test our cat, Buster, to see if he had enough sense to figure out that the Tasmanian Devil WAS NOT A LIVE ANIMAL!
Buster sniffed it and then curled up beside it and took a nice, long nap.
“I guess the cat is smarter than Charlie,” Oldest said.
“Either that or he is blissfully ignorant.”
But that wasn’t all. Late last night a pack of coyotes eagerly attempted to disengage our across-the-street neighbor’s very small yippy dog from its backyard for a tasty midnight snack.
Charlie saw the whole thing and went absolutely bonkers for the second time in one day. He was running circles around the living room, crying and barking at the same time.
Thankfully the dog survived and the coyotes eventually went on their merry way. (I would have intervened with my mama-bear-deep-voice if I thought the dog was in serious danger.)
“You get on out of here!” (Youngest loves when I sound like this. He always says: boy you were really mad, weren’t you?)
When I was telling Oldest the story this morning, he said, “well, why didn’t the dog run back into his yard instead of standing there by the fence while they tried to get him out?”
“That’s a good question, son. I guess it is for the same reason that Charlie was threatened by a Paper Mache animal.”
I’m pretty sure I saw Buster roll his eyes as soon as these words left my mouth.