Conversations With The Dog

I’ve taken to talking to myself. It happens sometimes. Normally when I have a lot of thoughts going through my head. I chuckled out loud this afternoon because I realized I was talking out loud, and not just thinking my thoughts. Perhaps it’s a sign of senility.

I had a run on my training plan today. Intervals. Perfectly suited for Mack to go with me. He’s not a running breed, but good lord, that dog has a lot of energy, and I run slow enough that it isn’t something that’s going to stress him out. He’s a great running companion. Not great on the leash, but good enough that he’ll run on my left without zigging and zagging all over the place.

About halfway through my planned course we were on a path that I thought was better lit than it was. Running alone after dark makes me a bit jumpy and nervous. But having Mack with me makes it OK. For me, anyway. Mack? Not so much. Bush alongside a retaining wall casting bizarre shadows on the sidewalk? Monsters, obviously! He jumped backwards against the leash, then his head went on a swivel. So I started talking to him. The sound of my voice seemed to calm him a bit.

“Good thing I came on this run with you, Mack, so I can protect you from the monsters.”

“It’s OK, buddy, it’s just a wee little dog.”

“What do you think, Mack? Are those big dogs in a fenced yard?”

“Good lord, Mack, this hill is STUPID!”

“Momma’s gotta walk a minute, hang on there.”

“Good thing you’re pretty.”

On and on, throughout the whole last half of our walk I talked to him. I don’t even carry on conversations with PEOPLE when I’m running. Poor skittish boy. He’ll get used to the dark. Then who will I talk to?


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