Seriously, Jazz, keep your hair. You need it. I need more hair, wait. What? No, that’s not true although I am convinced that reveling in my hairless state now will not pan out well in the future. I am going to be one of those ladies with see through hair. It may not be grey but it will be scarce.
Ok, so never mind that story line, we’ll get there… a lifetime later.
I am here to speak of my dog’s accomplishments. While I have been running for (cough, sputter) two decades, Jazz has only been running for three years (that’s because she’s three though, it isn’t like she got a late start).
This weekend she ran her first 10K, most of you know this because you subject yourselves to facebook, but for the people (my parents) who are NOT on facebook. Jazz ran her first 10K!!
She was pretty stoked once we cleared the cluster of a beginning. She feels the same way that Sarah and I feel about the beginning of a race. People everywhere, sorting themselves out, figuring out their pace, attempting to carve themselves an appropriate place in the order of things. Jazz did NOT enjoy this. Like me, she does not enjoy crowds.
Once we found our way to the edge, all was well, Jazz tucked in and turned her attention to her human companions. Ever vigilant. She kept close track of Sarah and Tom as we completed 6.2 miles.
Our only disagreement the entire race was the finish. I felt strongly about sprinting at the end (I had to beat the tall, dark and handsome man to my right). Jazz didn’t appreciate the value in kicking his ass. So instead of kicking up all four legs into an all out sprint at the end, she lagged back. Tall, dark and handsome beat us. Sigh. Total BS.
You’d think this dog who refused to run the circumference of Green Lake would have struggled with the distance but no, she was the pace setter of the day. Afterwards crashing out on Tom’s leg in the backseat of the car.
Jazz wasn’t prepared to join us for brunch. Waiting at home for me to return, she took a nap on a chair. I suppose, if I were presented with two options, I would choose the chair as well. Her bed has been subjected to a year of abuse. This bed, her blanky so to speak, carried throughout the apartment, relocated by Jazz as she saw fit. Dragged from this spot to that spot. This bed guarded against apartment intruders, this bed kneaded and snuggled.
This bed, was on its last legs. The green stuffing regularly removed and strewn about the apartment, found in the least appropriate places, lacked any support if one was actually interested in cushioning. So the chair it is.
I returned home from brunch with tall, dark and handsome Tom and Sarah +1. Disrobed and soothed my aching muscles in the shower. (alone, not with friends or pets, just in case this wasn’t clear) I noted and considered, Kobe remained lethargic, not himself, failing to circle around in his chatty manner.
Hopping out of the shower… ok hopping after races is not in order. My tight muscles deliberately maneuvered my body this way and that. Slow, tired, nearly falling asleep standing upright, I grabbed Jazz’s bed before climbing into bed so she would hopefully nap next to me on the floor.
I realized it was wet, knelt down to discover that Kobe had decided Jazz’s bed was superior to the litter box. The bed, very much beyond the point of viability, was on the verge of being discarded. It remained only because of Jazz’s deep attachment to her “blanket.”
I carried the bed blanket to the kitchen with Jazz following close behind. It was impossible to go anywhere with bed blanket and NOT have Jazz with you, observing your every move. I opened the drawer to find a trash bag, Jazz watched with her head cocked and then proceeded to stand next to me as I stuffed bed blanket into a trash bag. I thought to myself, I never put clothes on, this is a little awkward. Jazz followed me to the door to watch me put bed blanket outside. Tears welled up a bit in my eyes as I quite literally trashed bed blanket.
Poor Kobe, his body swirling with improperly balanced electrolytes, his muscles struggling to harness enough energy to make the shortest jumps, every bony prominence palpable and poor Jazz without her bed blanket.
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