Layman's terms: love-hate relationship.
Dax turned 11 months old May 1st... amazingly, in spite of various suicide attempts and incidents causing near infanticide.
The No-Longer-So-Tiny Terrorist's new game is to run far away and not come back for at least 45 minutes. This can take the form of swimming from one side of the lake to the other to avoid capture; evading me until shy of midnight, when I lose my composure and fetch him by wading, fully dressed, into the lake; or my all-time favorite, after exiting the Boonies at dusk, pretending to load into the car and taking off into the woods instead. The last one was his coup de grace.
X-rays had shown fractures in my foot and I was 'supposed' to be off from running. Tell that to the genius who was yipping after a herd of deer he was chasing well off the property onto neighbors' lands. I left the car running with the AC and windows down for Peter and Garrett, taking off without phone or flashlight...using his barks as my beacons. I love adventure, but galloping like a moose through underbrush by moonlight, isn't quite it. I found him exhausted and unable to run, two farms away, I could hear the cars on the highway, we were that far from home. I carried him back, 45 minutes to the property line, using Venus as my guide (thank goodness I've been trying to teach myself some star navigation basics). I soon find the car and we actually make it home before midnight.
Next Bonehead maneuver: playing with snakes.
Next, we're out running in the Boonies, yes running, albeit slowly.
Quick aside to explain: MRI showed three fractured bones.
Both sesamoids.
And this phalange. Plus a hideous amount of arthritis. 6 weeks in the Frankenstein boot is the doctor's order.
Been there, done that, bopping around 18 hours a day with an uneven gait makes my opposite hip's arthritis so angry I can't sleep at night. My solution:
New Hoka trail running shoes with oodles of cushioning and a third of the price of the Frankie boot.
And I even follow recuperation protocol of elevating my foot every few hours.
Happy?
As long as I run flat footed instead of my preferred ball strike, I'm OK.
Don't argue with me, it's futile. Running is what we do. Even Peter, mostly. Peter has been diagnosed with erlichiosis (tick borne disease), so he's off the hook while undergoing treatment for the next month.
A day without an explosive bloodletting of exercise makes for a life not worth living. Preach moderation all you want, I'm too old to figure it out. I'll be the 85 year old kicked out of the nursing home for running down the halls and choking out other residents in wrestling holds.
Wiser people meditate, I have to sweat.
A little danger never hurts either. Here I am reenacting how (thanks to Dax of course) I tripped over a rattlesnake this week.
While running in the Boonies, Dax ran up and down past me three times, I was staring at that moron's antics when...
...too much in panic mode once at vehicle when I realize that I have been caught at the 1% of the time that I am without fire power. I call in the cavalry and return to hunt down the snake that did NOT have the courtesy to remain at the same place. During the 10 minutes it took Flynn to get to the Boonies, I made a concentric search pattern to reacquire said snake. You know they have great camouflage... just about stepped on it again.
All non venomous snakes are welcomed, but vipers have no place in our horse pastures. Sorry Charlie. The deceased snake currently resides in my fridge, being used a training tool to snake proof Dax. Quick guess... he's not a great pupil.
But, can he play...for hours.
For that, he does have the attention span.
As aggravating as he is, I suppose we're stuck with him.
This is how he fell asleep on my lap last week during work trips to Lake Wedowee 100 miles away.
The reward for being such a good traveler:
His first kayaking lesson. Do note that he is not in the kayak-- suffice it to say the water isn't as cold as you'd expect it to be on May 3rd!
Tirelessly little tugboat!
Loch Ness of the South.
And to cap of our evenings, we've gotten into the habit of watching nature shows.
He's one of a kind, my Dax!
