The running shoe is on the other foot.

In the past, various people who love me (Thank you.  I do appreciate it.) have encouraged me to exercise. They say things like:  I don't want you to die first.

Isn't that romatic?

Sometimes I have listened to them, but never consistently.  Some of these healthy folks have gone so far as to herd/drag me out the door and try to get me to run with them.

I generally go until the first garage sale, at which point I have to stop and see if there is anything good.  Other compelling reasons to stop include (but are not limited to): hills, flats, empty houses with for sale signs (I like to peek in the windows), seeing people I know (and must chat with, naturally), puppies, pretty gardens,  people working in their gardens (I have questions!), lemonade stands, birdsong, free piles, dumpsters with non-stinky stuff sticking out of them,  etc.

HOWEVER

There has been a change in my attitude.  Two changes, to be exact.  In the form of my two lazy dogs. The big one is old and the puppy is a mastiff.  They both really like to nap.  Sometimes the puppy has to be carried when we walk the smaller hooligan to school (4 whole blocks) or else we'll be very late.

Nonetheless  I am afraid to leave them alone in the house unless they are exhausted.  If they're feeling frisky and they get bored I'm pretty sure they will eat the couch.

So every morning  I snap on their leashes.  They roll their eyes at me.  Really?  They ask.  Because we're fine.  We'll just hang out here, maybe play a little biteface in the living room.  You go ahead.  don't let us hold you back.

No I tell them.  You'll enjoy it.  It's good for you.  You need the fresh air.  Come on now.  I can't go alone.  Who will protect me from cougars?

Exactly.  They tell me.  Nothing doing.  We don't care for cats.  See you later.  Have fun.  

At this point I fish the bag of treats out of my pocket and shake it at them.  You want this?  I ask?  Both dogs nod enthusiastically.  The little one starts to drool.

I take off.  They look at each other.  I can almost see them shrug.  Fine.  They haul themselves up and start trotting after me.  I have to remain just out of their reach for at least a quarter mile by which time they have forgotten their reluctance and are loping along cheerfully.  As am I.

The Man Who Lives In My House says that this whole interaction sums up my personality exactly:  I don't want to do anything unless I think it is my idea.

I should have gotten a puppy years ago.