Exercise

They call it excercise for some reason. I don’t need excercise. I just run. And I’m learning to jump as well.

Every morning – that’s the word THEY use for when they let me out of my box – and every evening (before they put me back in), I go for a run. From one end of the playground to the other.

Trrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr. I love that sound.

My legs, admittedly not the longest (yet), hardly touch the ground. I’m a blur of white, racing over the red carpet, through the open gate that separates my front and rear playgrounds, and right up to the balcony door (shut until I’m older, they say).

My record is a few dog seconds. Sometimes I am forced to slow down when Erwin the elk insists on traveling with me in my mouth; other times, I am only halted by the glass balcony door. Boum! I like that sound.

Today something strange happened. Mistress had rolled out a green mat on the carpet, and is lying on it. She waves her legs in the air. I can do that too.

Then she lowers them. And then she does the same again…many, many times. Counting out loud.

Well, I’m not having that in the middle of my playground. Oh no. It’s my space. And I’m being ignored as well. So far, I have been lying quietly next to her observing this strange morning ritual, watching, assessing, waiting for the right moment.

Enough!

Whoosh. I spring on to her tummy, settle my weight on her chest, push my nose towards hers. Lick her chin, her nose, her neck. And put all my weight on her chest. Olja shall not be moved.

And neither can she. I’m far too heavy. My strategy has worked. End of morning ritual. Full attention for Olja.

And then she laughs – not what I was expecting, to be honest.  But I have achieved my objective. End of exercise.

Victory for Olja First.