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Ducks and business

Some days just… suck. Mom had promised me that we would run into the office, and then I could be a business dog. She said that I definitely couldn’t stay home, because she wanted to leave out an edible present for the Man Who Brings Me Cheese, and I couldn’t be trusted to be alone with it. And if I ate the gift, then I would “ruin Christmas.” Whatever.

So Mom got all dressed to run, and then she tried to get me dressed in my ugly bargain bin vest. I refused to cooperate, not picking up my legs when she asked and pretending like I’d forgotten English. I had to stall because NotMom was cooking eggs, and I needed to make sure I was still around when they were done. “Part of being a man-dog is making sure that you get out the door early enough to get to work on time,” Mom explained. “But I don’t WANNA go to work! I want to stay home and eat eggs, and then run into the book shelf until that giant meat stick and that bin of chicken liver cookies you left up there falls down! Then I want to eat that!” “Being a grown-up means resisting temptation,” Mom went on. “And going to work when you don’t want to.” Being a grown-up sucks. I planted myself next to where eggs were served, and refused to move. Mom hooked on the leash. I still refused to move. NotMom gave me eggs. I still refused to move, because there were still more eggs on the plate and a man-dog can still hope, can’t he?

Mom dragged me away from the table to the door, but when she stopped to open the door I got real sneaky and ran back to the other side of the table and made myself a boulder again, but I didn’t get any more eggs. If this is what being a businessdog is really about, I want no part in it!

Then Mom and I ran out the door. I couldn’t figure out where we were going, because Mom ran in the opposite direction from My Trail. I was real confused for over half a mile as we ran through an unfamiliar neighborhood, and then Mom started muttering about ducks out of nowhere. “Ducks, ducks, ducks ducks!!!” Then she about-faced and got all grouchy. I don’t like it when she starts talking about ducks because then she yells at me a lot, pulls on the leash, and sometimes slams doors and throws things.

We were halfway back to the house when the urge caught me to take a giant dump. I stopped short and refused to move, — just like I had with the eggs — until I found the perfect spot in a pile of wood chips. “Ducks, Oscar!” Mom whined at me. “You need to do that NOW?!?!” What did this have to do with ducks? By the time we got back home, we were REALLY late and Mom was slamming doors and REALLY upset about ducks. That made me scared, so I went and hid in the other room behind NotMom’s legs. Being a businessdog is so stressful!

Finally Mom caught me and we went back outside, but we hadn’t even gotten down the block again when Mom remembered something else about ducks and made us come back home. That was it. She unhooked me and got in the shower, and I didn’t get a run before I had to go to work. By car.

Work can really ruin a guy’s running mojo. Work and ducks.

-Oscar the Pooch


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