Yesterday evening Patty decided to jog around the park a few times and take Maccabee with her. I went with them but declined to partake of the joyous pleasure of running myself ragged in a circle. One park bench looked about ready to blow away, so I thoughtfully anchored it with my butt.

The first lap, about a quarter mile, Patty could hardly keep up with Mac. He was straining at the leash and barking his little brain out.

The next lap Patty was keeping up pretty well. Mac was silent.

The third lap Mac was sadly bringing up the rear, and the last half of the fourth lap Patty had to carry him.

We went back to the house letting Mac lead the way, slowly. When we walked in the front door, Mac ran to greet Samantha and Cherokee. Both looked up expectantly, then cringed when he approached. He wasn't what they expected. People will tell you dogs don't sweat, but when Mac has been run around the park a few times, he develops a very distinctive aroma. He smells like everything except something good.

Both cats ran from him every time he approached. Now, this hurt Mac's feelings; he wanted to tell his little hairy buddies all about the birds and the squirrels and all the other dogs he saw and and and. . .But, being the fastidious sort (as cats are), they wanted none of that smelly mutt. Sam tried to help by fetching my deodorant from the bedroom, but that only made matters worse. Mac, mortally offended, just lay there on the floor and moped, shimmering like a garbage dump on a hot day. I think if he had been asked at the time what we should have for supper, he would have suggested cat soup, and he would furnish the cat or die trying.

Copyright © David Yehudah
April 22, 2000