Fed Ex won the Wimbledon in a too-close-for-comfort match equaling Borg’s 5 straight strawberries with crème trophies.
Ferrari and Kimi are racing again.
I’m a little like Veronica Lodge – I like my winners. But if truth be told I like people who like winning more. There’s something so honest about a man who wants to win- Like a woman who shamelessly enjoys compliments or a child who likes getting dirty.
I got up early one morning (only because I had to) and took Cykie for a walk (only because I had to). I’m a strong girl. (I hate how that makes me sound like the Hulk’s sister). But I am and I took our St. Bernard size Alsatian for a walk. Maybe with my limbs still slack and warm this wasn’t the brightest idea. I think researchers should spend valuable time studying the wake up time of a 19 year old vs. that of an 8*7 year old dog.
Anyway, so there we go – down hill and up dale. Big dog pulling sleepy mistress. Tug.
Cykie don’t.
Gambol. Gambol. Come race me.
Sigh. I hate good cheer in the mornings even from a too-big-to-be-so-silly dog.
He turns back on his lead and grins. Then he goes around me wrapping me in his chain so I’ll trip. Ha ha. He thinks it’s funny. I don’t.
Whack.
Don’t you give me that melted brown look. You just tried to kill me. Okay so you didn’t mean to but stupidity is no excuse in a criminal court. (Is it Aldair?)
He slumps along now. Just trying to make me feel bad. I’m not sure if he’s a dog or a man. I’ll show him. I jauntily ignore him. I’m a woman.
He’s a dog. He doesn’t sulk too long. Gambol Gambol.
At this time in the morning I wish he was a man.
The wind is really blowing. Fresh and cool and I’m coming awake. Against my will, I’m caught up in his excitement. Fine, let’s run. (Besides it’s downhill for a stretch).
So we run, run, wind in our hair and fur, faster and faster on our 2 feet and four paws, lungs filling and tongue flapping (all mine and his respectively). When I come to a grinding halt. Too late. Ah crap.
The momentum helps the big mutt. Before I can even shout a command ( I like to believe it would have stopped him), he has yanked himself off and is lion-like prancing straight at 4 dogs who had the audacity to bark at him while he was on a lead.
Not anymore. But they weigh the odds. Their four to his one. He doesn’t think at all. I can almost see the gleeful burst in his pea sized brain – Fight. Game. Fun.
It’s too early in the morning for such frenetic energy bursting through my heart I think. Fear. Oh god. Mars is too far away at home. I wouldn’t be able to get him in time.
So I do the only thing I can. I scream.
Cykie no. Stop. Come back.
It’s all clogging my heart and throat. The four dogs round on him. Oh god, my beauty. Snarling dogs are truly scary. Scarier than lions and tigers who have the good sense to stick to jungles.
Uhh… wait a second… one dog has run off. (I wasn’t completely useless; I helped my team by picking up a rock and hurling it) But the alpha male didn’t need help. He had one villain pinned under his front paw while he snarled and bit the other two. Then he released the first one and mauled the next. It was like watching a lion on National Geographic. Stunningly beautiful in motion. All the more so with the blood lust upon him. Just the desire to win and fight. Then he posed over the dogs like Schumi on the top step of the podium. Pure pleasure and energy at the win.
The larger army turned and ran. My hero came back. He has the brains to looks contrite.
He’s intact and I’m too impressed to be angry.
I don’t know about the rest of mankind but I’m definitely descended from a caveman and his clubbed on the head mate.
Ferrari and Kimi are racing again.
I’m a little like Veronica Lodge – I like my winners. But if truth be told I like people who like winning more. There’s something so honest about a man who wants to win- Like a woman who shamelessly enjoys compliments or a child who likes getting dirty.
I got up early one morning (only because I had to) and took Cykie for a walk (only because I had to). I’m a strong girl. (I hate how that makes me sound like the Hulk’s sister). But I am and I took our St. Bernard size Alsatian for a walk. Maybe with my limbs still slack and warm this wasn’t the brightest idea. I think researchers should spend valuable time studying the wake up time of a 19 year old vs. that of an 8*7 year old dog.
Anyway, so there we go – down hill and up dale. Big dog pulling sleepy mistress. Tug.
Cykie don’t.
Gambol. Gambol. Come race me.
Sigh. I hate good cheer in the mornings even from a too-big-to-be-so-silly dog.
He turns back on his lead and grins. Then he goes around me wrapping me in his chain so I’ll trip. Ha ha. He thinks it’s funny. I don’t.
Whack.
Don’t you give me that melted brown look. You just tried to kill me. Okay so you didn’t mean to but stupidity is no excuse in a criminal court. (Is it Aldair?)
He slumps along now. Just trying to make me feel bad. I’m not sure if he’s a dog or a man. I’ll show him. I jauntily ignore him. I’m a woman.
He’s a dog. He doesn’t sulk too long. Gambol Gambol.
At this time in the morning I wish he was a man.
The wind is really blowing. Fresh and cool and I’m coming awake. Against my will, I’m caught up in his excitement. Fine, let’s run. (Besides it’s downhill for a stretch).
So we run, run, wind in our hair and fur, faster and faster on our 2 feet and four paws, lungs filling and tongue flapping (all mine and his respectively). When I come to a grinding halt. Too late. Ah crap.
The momentum helps the big mutt. Before I can even shout a command ( I like to believe it would have stopped him), he has yanked himself off and is lion-like prancing straight at 4 dogs who had the audacity to bark at him while he was on a lead.
Not anymore. But they weigh the odds. Their four to his one. He doesn’t think at all. I can almost see the gleeful burst in his pea sized brain – Fight. Game. Fun.
It’s too early in the morning for such frenetic energy bursting through my heart I think. Fear. Oh god. Mars is too far away at home. I wouldn’t be able to get him in time.
So I do the only thing I can. I scream.
Cykie no. Stop. Come back.
It’s all clogging my heart and throat. The four dogs round on him. Oh god, my beauty. Snarling dogs are truly scary. Scarier than lions and tigers who have the good sense to stick to jungles.
Uhh… wait a second… one dog has run off. (I wasn’t completely useless; I helped my team by picking up a rock and hurling it) But the alpha male didn’t need help. He had one villain pinned under his front paw while he snarled and bit the other two. Then he released the first one and mauled the next. It was like watching a lion on National Geographic. Stunningly beautiful in motion. All the more so with the blood lust upon him. Just the desire to win and fight. Then he posed over the dogs like Schumi on the top step of the podium. Pure pleasure and energy at the win.
The larger army turned and ran. My hero came back. He has the brains to looks contrite.
He’s intact and I’m too impressed to be angry.
I don’t know about the rest of mankind but I’m definitely descended from a caveman and his clubbed on the head mate.
picture courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/
p.s. - can anyone (read Mars, Titania, Salvatore) supply me with a running pic of Cykie?
3 comments:
:) very nice! Though I'm all for the underdog myself.
you'd be surprised that i too was rooting for fedex this time round. enjoyed your post.
too late to post a post?? but i loved it...am telling u u have th gift of storytelling.
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