Exercise Doggone It! Dogs in Canada - June, 2000 Getting my husband to commit was a major obstacle. No, not to our marriage, that's been going strong for almost two decades; through three kids, a couple of houses, little troubles and lots of love. No, that relationship is fine. What I wanted him to commit to was a dog. We'd been batting the idea around for years. Could we, should we, get a dog. The breed had long ago been decided. The kids, of course, approved the idea early on. But still, he hesitated. Finally, after I voiced it plain and simple, "I want a dog" he relented, with conditions. He, the alpha male of our pack, would have no doggy obligations. He wouldn't have to do the dirty deed. (He's scooped poop, I have witnesses.) He wouldn't have to walk the mutt. (They regularly romp together on the beach.) His life wouldn't be ruled by the dog's schedule. (It isn't. Well okay, maybe just a little.) But, for all his protestations, I believe my better half had an ulterior motive for agreeing to bring a pooch into our lives. He figured it would force me to exercise and he was right. Granted I haven't exactly gone from couch potato to brawny athlete in the past six months. But daily now, (actually several times a day) I'm dragged off my lazy behind, out into the fresh air by my personal trainer. But unlike most trainers with their sculpted muscles, washboard abdomens and ridiculously low body fat, mine has four legs, a wet nose and an ever-wagging tail. My exercise regime is directed by a still-growing, boundless bundle of black Labrador, named Quin. (Last condition: hubby got final say on her name.) Canine calisthenics are unlike any other form of exercise. With a puppy padding around the house there's no such thing as warm-ups. You can't ease into dog ownership, like you can regular exercise. From the very moment we brought her home I was up and at 'em. I swear we set new land-speed records in our housebreaking efforts. Ever vigilant, I'd spot her sniffing around, homing in on a tantalizing bit of carpet, and the sprint was on. Scooping her up, we’d make the mad fifty yard dash outside, like a pumped athlete sprinting for the finish line. Only our goal was to get to the designated spot in time, where she'd be unceremoniously dumped and told to "do her business." Our shrewdest move was adopting Quin in the early fall, when it was still warm enough to run barefoot and short-sleeved out into the yard. Thankfully by the time the cold winds began blowing and snow drifts were knee-deep she'd learned to ring a bell at the back door, then wait patiently while this ill-adapted human donned parka and mitts. Though a much more civilized system, it certainly doesn't burn as many calories as our former frantic "gotta-go"' gallops out the backdoor. But these days our training circuit rivals any offered by the finest fitness centers. Never boring, our daily doggy exercise includes everything from brisk walks around the neighborhood to raucous roughhousing indoors. Tossing her favorite frisbee around the backyard is a welcome break for my aching neck and shoulder muscles, stiff from long stints at the computer. But even solitary work time is more pleasant with a dog's warm muzzle laid across my feet. My canine taskmaster is also responsible for dragging me away from the dreaded television. Just as my backside threatens to cause serious butt ruts in the familyroom couch, she’ll ring the bell and force me to heave myself off the comfy cushions and out into the cool night air. Granted, not all our walks are pleasant. Many an evening I've stood windblown, with cold rain pelting down my neck, imploring the hound to "Hurry up damn it, finish your business!" And although you couldn't convince me at the time, I know that this too is good for me. It clears the cobwebs from my brain and fills my lungs with fresh, albeit slightly damp, air. So, has my husband's plan to surreptitiously slip exercise into my life worked?. Definitely. Where once nothing could motivate this sedentary scribe to exercise, now just one look from those irresistible, brown pleading eyes gets me up and moving. True, I'm not exactly running marathons or lifting weights of Olympic proportions, but with leash in hand, I do now manage to hike around the block without any huffing and puffing. And while my cardiovascular system and cholesterol level have no doubt benefited from this dog-inspired exercise, I figure my real reward is that wagging tail, those sloppy licks and all that unconditional love.
	All information contained on this website is copyright Linda McAvoy. Unauthorized use of material on this site, in whole or in part, for profit or not for profit, is prohibited.