Dear Diary,
I am tired. Capital T. Four days. FOUR. Of walking 4.7 to 4.8 miles each day. That’s not a walk, that’s a journey. I signed up to be a dog, not a migrating caribou.
Don’t get me wrong—I asked for walks. I wanted walks. And wow did I get them. At some point a guy has to admit he may have overcommitted. Yesterday my legs filed a formal complaint with my brain.
Last night, even I knew it was time for bed. I had to signal Dad like, “Sir. Please. Power down the human. This unit requires sleep.” Beauty sleep, specifically. I need to keep my rugged good looks sharp. Dad probably needs more sleep too… though let’s be honest, sleep can only do so much. Genetics are undefeated.
The squirrel raiders remain at large. Too fast for me. Tiny, twitchy criminals with fluffy tails and zero respect. But that’s okay—this is a team operation. I alert. Willow engages. It’s a system. Yesterday Willow almost got one, even with my warning barks, growls, snorts, and advanced tactical noises. I did my part. Hero work, really.
Cold this morning. I’m not sure if we’re walking today. Dad was limping yesterday. Limping again this morning. What can I say? He’s old. Happens to the best of us. (Mostly him.)
Still… I hope it warms up. I do want another walk. I complain, but deep down I love it. Just maybe not another 4.8 miles. Maybe a sensible distance. Like to the end of the driveway. Or the couch.
For now, I will rest. Recover. Recharge. Guard the house from squirrels and mailmen. And nap aggressively.
—Reggie 🐾
(Professional walker, elite squirrel alarm, full-time exhausted good boy)