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Le Tour

I finally got to go back to the REAL trails!!! Mom woke me up early this morning, and we drove out to the trail that Mom’s not supposed to go to (you need to live in a different town to get in). We park a quarter mile away from the parking lot, and sneak in on some horse trails before the rangers get there. I realized pretty quickly that I’m not a lean, mean, mountain climbing machine after several months of being a slumpy lump of a bump on a log. After 2 miles, when Mom saw that I wasn’t going to come forward and tow her up the hill, she let me off leash for a little while. But after about a mile of me being on my best behavior and waiting for her around every bend, she lost her nerve (and decided she was too much of a lump to sprint uphill after me in case of an emergency) and roped me back up.

At my house we’ve been watching the Tour de France. Cycling is a sport where the race goes to the biggest weasel who can save energy by leashing yourself up to someone else, sitting right behind their butt and letting them do the hard work and tow you to the finish. So I decided to use what I learned and sit so close behind Mom that sometimes her heel would catch me in the chin. After I hulked out of my harness last week when I got into a fight, went into beast mode and had to rip it off (and then got my butt kicked), now the leash drags on the ground when I run right behind Mom. Sometimes it wraps around her leg and she crows like the world’s ugliest bird and does this dumb-looking dance before she stops and untangles herself. To prevent going end-over-end down a ravine, Mom had to daintily hold the leash up high with one hand. Since she usually runs like a herd of rhinoceroses, today she pranced around like a dainty hippopotamus trying to hold up the hem of her skirt. Good thing we hardly saw anybody, because it really wasn’t a pretty site to see.

When we got home after finishing 9-mile loop, I was bushed! I lay down on the couch, and slept through the full 5-hour broadcast of today’s stage like a clumpy, lumpy bump on a log.

–Oscar the (couch) Potato Beast



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