“Where’s your dog?”

I get this one a lot, almost every day.

Though you’ll rarely see me without Ruby at any given time in the day, you’ll always see me without her while I’m running.

Because my dog is a lying sack of adorable furry deception, wrapped in a fib, tied neatly in a mirage of bullshit.

They told me that dogs love running.

A few years ago I used to take Ruby running with me, but halfway into mile 2 she’d always look at me like “are we done yet?”

And we were not even close to done yet.

Eventually she started sitting down every 1.5 miles or so. To rest. Take in the scenery. Bask. Observe the water foul.

It began to dawn on me that perhaps she was not into running.

Then one morning she saw my shoes go on, and I guess she thought she’d try something… she lifted a paw and wimpered. Poor Wooby couldn’t do her run that day.

So I let it slide.

The next day… same deal, but she’s got my number now, so… it’s paw raise + a bonus walkabout limp. To demonstrate the extent of the injury, of course.

I let it slide again.

The next day… she took it too far and raised one paw but favored another on her bonus walkabout. Jig was up. She was clearly faking injuries to get out of running.

And so, my dog is a damn dirty liar who hates cardio.

And we never run together.

Ruby doesn’t like it when I leave her at home, she always wants to be with me and do all the things. But every morning when I say “Bye Boo! Mama’s gone runnin’” she looks at me like “Smell ya later, dumbass.”

And does not even try to feign interest.


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