I know. I know. I should do that. I guess I probably will, too. I’ve been thinking of getting one of those little radios with the ear thingies to listen to, anyway. Everyone knows that hound of mine needs her exercise, as I don’t set her loose down along the river on a night ‘coon hunt as often as I should.
I might even look good in a sweatsuit.
There’s a certain amount of pride a guy can take in exercise, of course. You get out in the cold morning air and suffer along in your quest to postpone The Big One as long as possible. Lots of Brownie points with the neighbors, of course, to be thought of as a with-it, “now” kinda guy. The ones who moved here from the city will begin to smile and wave more often.
The only problem with this exercise stuff is how tiring it can be. But I think I have this figured out. Yes… a plan.
“He’s been exercising so hard he’s exhausted,” they’ll say, watching me trudge back toward the warmth of my home.
Eventually, they’ll wonder why my dog hasn’t lost any weight, of course, but then, no plan is perfect.