Poor Arnie is an apartment dog. He has no backyard to run and play in, so whenever we go to my parents house, he spends the entire time in their backyard chasing possums and squirrels and rabbits and whatever else he can stir up.
But in OK, my only option is making sure he gets long walks and runs every morning, and every evening. The funny thing is, he LOVES walkies…. but he HATES to run. He hates it. Its hysterical. Hes like a kid in gym class, forced to run The Mile, stops 100 yards in and just walks the rest of the way, bitching and complaining under his breath.
Arnie will literally stop in the middle of the run, and I can hear his little doggie brain thinking ‘Fuck this shit. Im walking.’
Well today I decided we should sprint the last couple of blocks home. While Arnie hates running, he always seems to find a burst of energy to try to chase after a random duck, so I was like “Hey! We can just sprint a bit! He can do that!”
I was dragging him behind me as we ‘sprinted’.
So I was like ‘Fine Arnie! Im sprinting! Catch up!’ and I drop the leash and bolt to the stop sign, expecting Arnie to be like ‘OMGSHESLEAVINGMENOOOOMOMMIE!!!’
I turn around at the stop sign.
Arnie is still standing exactly where I dropped the leash.
Then he sat down.