A Day to Rest My Muscles

You can drive a dog to the park, but you can't make her exercise.

It’s raining. Life isn’t always a walk in the park, but I’m just fine with that. Joan’s the one with the exercise mania. “Come on, Juno. Walking’s good for you.” “You can do it; just one more mile, and you can go home and watch all the Animal Planet you want.” At least, that’s what she says, you know, to encourage me.


In my neighborhood, humans come in two groups—the smoking beer drinkers who sit in their cars for hours and the exercisers who jog sweatily along the street and then disappear on the horizon. Dogs aren’t that way at all. We like a good run, but we do it in moderation; we also like to rest, but, again, we don’t spend hours sitting in cars, smoking, drinking, and staring at nothing. I’m not saying humans should be like dogs—but they sure could learn a thing or two from us.


You know, I love to eat dirt on occasion. The pet websites say I have either a behavioral problem—me?—or a terrible disease. I say, I just like the gritty texture and pungent smell of cool damp earth fresh from the ground. After all, it’s not every day, and it’s not as though I’m obsessed with the stuff.


Anyway, no walk in the woods today for it’s way too wet. That’s good. My muscles need a respite from healthful practices—at least for a day or two.


Best wishes, Juno