I just got back from jogging two and a half miles. With the dogs. They are my running companions and without them running might not be possible. Because when there’s no human around to guilt you into running, a dog will do just fine. They jump up and stare at you the second you get out of the chair, running up and down the hallway excitedly.

“No, I’m not taking you out right now, I’m just going to get some tea.” I tell them. I go back to my computer.

They don’t make any noise, but it’s as if a united sigh goes up from their lungs as they pad back to the dog bed.

Next time I get up, the same thing again: jumping, running, dancing in circles.

“Naw,” I say, “I’m just getting the laundry.”

Now their glances aren’t disappointed. They’re sulky, disillusioned. They pad back to the dog bed again, their tails down.

I get up to go write something on the shopping list on the fridge. They spring straight up, jump up and down, tear out the dog door and then back in again, run in circles, go to the closet where the leashes are kept. Wag their tails.

“No, I’m not taking you yet.” I go back to the computer.

Now they’re angry. The sullenly slink back to their dog bed. Their eyes hold a disdainful glow. “You betrayer of the canine race,” they seem to be saying to me. “We have *no life* unless you take us for a walk. We sit here all day, hoping against hope that you will make our lives bright and happy and wonderful, which you can do by just going out for a *few minutes* with us on that leash thingy, and yet, what do you do? You sit there staring at that stupid gray box. How long until you figure out that box is never going to *do* anything? You’re wasting your life!”

It’s working. Guilt. I need to go running anyway. I have agreed to go with Bob on a 5K on Sunday and today was supposed to be my final practice run. I don’t want to do it. But these dogs and their guilt-making! I don’t know if the pain of running will be any less than the pain of being glared at by a pair of sulking canines.

I get up. I get the leashes. The dogs rush forward. It’s too good to be true! Their lives have been leading up to this. They dance and prance around the door. I clip on the leashes and we go out into the evening air.

A half an hour later, I stumble in the door. (Yes, it takes me a half an hour to run 2.5 miles.) “You bad dogs,” I tell them. “Helen, how could you stop and pull backwards *seven times* while I was running up that hill. And CB, how many times can one dog *go* on a half hour run? It’s a good thing I had a bunch of extra doggie cleanup bags. And both of you, you didn’t *have* to pull me so hard that I almost fell down on my face when you saw the baby bunny innocently grazing on someone’s lawn . Next time, I’m definitely not taking *either* of you.”

They run up the stairs to get a drink of water. They are not worried in the least. They know I may be irritated now, but that tomorrow, as the evening wears on, a few sad looks, some glares, some gentle paw-setting on the knee, and they’ve be out on the street again, enjoying the doggie good life. And all I’ll get it the pleasure of knowing that I am able to actually run, that I’m really not walking, that there is a moment of suspension in each step, where both feet are off the ground.

I never thought I would be able to run again. But thanks to fortitude, physical therapy, and guilt-inducing jackal dogs, I can jog again.

Now we just have to see how it goes on the 5K on Sunday I’ll keep you posted …I doubt he will be able to guilt me nearly as effectively as my dogs do. But more will be revealed. Tune in next Friday.