So if you’ve followed this blog at all you know I work as a writer but also as a private detective, basically tracking down cheating spouses and that sort of thing. That has severely limited my ability to keep up the blog. So on a few days a week my dog Lucy covers for me. Here are her thoughts on exercise:
I hate exercise. It’s completely stupid. I’d no sooner stand around in a gym lifting weights than you’d eat your own poop. Eating your own poop makes complete sense because it’s filled with vital nutrients but standing around in a gym lifting weights makes no sense at all. I never, ever exercise. Call me lazy if you want, but I don’t exercise and don’t see the point of it. I don’t set fitness goals, I don’t plan out my week, I don’t work with a trainer (not the kind of trainer you’re thinking of. I work with a trainer sometimes and fitness trainers could learn something from my trainer, actually. If fitness trainers threw a mini-snickers at their clients every time they did a push up people would want to do more push ups but that’s off the subject.) The thing is, I like my body. I don’t think about it’s limitations at all, or the fact that I’m a bit more pudgy than I was only a year ago. I don’t sit around wishing I was a more fit dog and I never will. So my only advice about exercising is never, ever think about it or want to do it or plan it or hire a trainer (unless they have a fannie pack of mini-snickers bars.)
So that’s all the advice I have for you about exercise.
That said, here’s what I love. I love to run after a ball. I love to fetch and I could fetch all day. It’s my absolute favorite. My favorite favorite fetching is when Don throws the ball into water. If we are at the river, Don throws it way down the beach and I run down the beach and tackle the ball in the shallow water like it was a baby antelope. I make a huge splash about it and if the ball is in deeper water I swim as hard as Michael Phelps and when I get the ball I take it down like an alligator drowns a swimming cat. Then I run it back to Don and drop it at his feet and he throws it again. We do this for hours. If we are at the reservoir it’s a whole different system. Don throws it into the water and I dive off the edge like a cliff diver in Rio and land flat on my belly with such a loud splash that everybody in the park turns and points at me in time to see me catch my stride, making a two-inch wake in front of my snout, reeling the ball in by feet per second. I sometimes get distracted by ducks so I lose the ball. Ducks are complete jerks because they make you swim around in circles. I’d seriously like to get my teeth into a duck. I can see their little buts under their feathers just a half inch above the water and I want to bite their duck butts. But then I go get the ball and bring it back. I do this until I am completely tired and I can’t walk anymore. Then I lay down in the shade. When I want to chase the ball again, I pick it up and lay it down next to Don and get into a hunting position, very frozen, you can’t move an inch, you just have to stare at the ball like you’re a statue and then Don picks it up and you get to start the whole thing over again.
But I never, ever exercise. Exercise makes no sense at all.