Sam is getting a little older, late middle-aged, and has grayed up a lot like me. We both, though, like to pretend we're still young and energetic, so Sam and I periodically run a few laps around the house via the paths through the woods out front and up the deck stairs out back. He waits for me to say, "Ready ... set ..." and is usually off like a shot before I can finish yelling, "GO!" Of course, he beats me every time and dances around waiting for me to catch up. Sometimes he even teases me by totally cheating, leaving the path, bounding through the woods, and making it to the lawn way ahead of me.
I don't really think anything of this routine we have until later while sitting at the kitchen table. Bestowed upon me by my siblings is the epithet Runs With Dog. You know, like Dances With Wolves but with a lot less violence and ultimate catastrophe. Sam doesn't get a special epithet, such as He Who Outsmarts Humans, but he is the relay race winner every time. Now if I can just remember to zipper shut my suitcase all the way, I might not have to be Wears Slobbery Clothing for the rest of my stay.
Love ya, Sam!
