Nasty Walnut

I hate jogging. I know people who jog, and they amaze me.

I have a husky. And what I mean by that is that I have a puppy with boundless, inexhaustible energy who destroys things when he is not utterly worn out. Also, it is October and 80 degrees. These two facts compel me to take that puppy on walks.

I love walks. Especially walks in glorious weather. But when I walk with Arrow, my husky, we jog. He was meant to pull a dogsled. I have no doubt he could do so without even trying. So we jog. We also chase squirrels. The me part of we has no choice in this matter. We chase them up trees.

The first day he took me for a jog I thought I was going to die. We went half as far as I usually go on a walk with my compliant, gentle puggle, and I was so sore that evening that I walked like a granny. But, we've had a string of beautiful days, so the last time he took me on a jog things went much better. I went farther than I planned, and, even when we turned around to head home, I felt pretty good. In fact, I felt pretty proud. I was smiling, my hair was blowing in the self created breeze from my brisk pace, and I was confident that I would make it home well before the collapse in the grass and cry state hit me. Except for occasional dashing off of the bike trail into the woods to tree a squirrel, we were jogging like real joggers.

But, there was a walnut. It had fallen from a tree and hidden itself on top of the concrete. So, I should have seen it. But, I was smiling proudly at my puppy. We were rocking it!! We were glorious!! WE WERE JOGGING!! So, I stepped on the walnut. That freaking walnut was the size of an orange.

Then the collapse in the grass and cry state hit me. Suddenly and powerfully. I hit the ground. I released the leash and didn't care. I actually cried out loud like a school kid. When I am hurt I have two reactions: rip things or squeeze things. Arrow must know this about me because after a short moment of running free, he returned and laid down next to me. I squeezed him like an accordion. He didn't care. He could pull a dogsled with no effort.

I was far from home, so I eventually stood up and hobbled in the general direction of my house. I walked like a crazy drunk, and finally knew it was hopeless. I called my husband 100 times.

I've never been more happy than when he found me crying hysterically in the grass by the side of a road.

So my proud moment of accomplishment turned into an adventure in which I broke my ankle, wound up in a cast and on crutches and am restricted from activity for 6 weeks. But my dog is fine.

Next time we go jogging I think I will do so from a sled.