Worry is Futile

People get so in the habit of worry that if you save them from drowning and put them on a bank to dry in the sun with hot chocolate and muffins they wonder whether they are not taking cold. ~John Jay Chapman, American author

Dallas here.

How does she manage to catch me mid-snooze??

I know Mama’s been worried about me.

She denies it, of course, but I know. I’m in tune with her emotions, like a good Sheltie should be.

She’s been like a frantic tornado, moving furniture, cleaning out clutter, throwing away excess, donating to charity. Shoot, even the “poor dogs” at the shelter got some stuff.

And on Friday, she hauled me to the dogtur for an exam.

The two of them must think I’m deaf or something because they stood there looking me over, checking everything from teefies to tail. And when they finished, Dogtur pronounced me fit as a fiddle.

Whatever that means.

I guess it must be good because Mama got this big smile on her face and let Dogtur feed me some cookies.

Gosh, Mama, don’t you know it’s worthless to worry? I’m fine, really.

But still there are some changes afoot.

Dogtur told Mama that getting more exercise would be good for my hips. Mama is afraid of taking me outside — in case I poop out and she has to carry me home! — so she asked about the treadmill, and Dogtur agreed.

Seriously, Dogtur? I’ve heard of dogs who regularly exercise on water treadmills but not human ones. I don’t think I’d enjoy being wet much. And there’s no pee-mail to sniff or any other pets or people to greet….

But I digress.

Dogtur told Mama to let me get on it and go real slow, way slower than she goes. And I don’t have to stay on it but a few minutes at a time.

Because I’m not reading or watching TV, you know.

Dogtur said regular exercise would strengthen my back legs, taking some pressure off my arms and shoulders.

I don’t know about the medical stuff, but I’m already plotting how I can make this work for me. I’m a dog who does best with rewards.

And if I have to walk on that treadmill, I’m going to insist Mama give me a cookie afterward.

That should do it!

19 thoughts on “Worry is Futile

  1. Dallas, I am so happy to read that you’re fit as a fiddle. And can I tell you how handsomely cute you look in that photograph, sitting among the Autumn leaves?

    “And if I have to walk on that treadmill, I’m going to insist Mama give me a cookie afterward.

    That should do it.”

    OMG, that made me laugh out loud. You GO, boy! And I’m sure you’ll cleverly find a way to get TWO cookies! :)

    Enjoy the treadmill, Dallas. And stay healthy.

    Say Hi to Mama for me!

    • Aw, thanks, Mr. Ron. I Dallas like to sleep outdoors when it’s sunny, and Mama caught me just as I was partially waking up. Her and that camera!!

      Yes, I’m trying to stay healthy. Thanks for the encouragement. The Kid (Domer) says the treadmill is my “punishment” for skimping on “leg day” at the gym. He’s probably right. Leg Day plain-out hurts sometimes.

      Mama says Hi to you, too. Look out — the snows are heading your way! xx

    • Miss Dawn, you sound like an excellent mama! I Dallas am with you on the “dreadmill” tag, and TWO cookies sounds just about right. Of course, Mama doesn’t want me gaining weight, just building muscle, so she might put a stop to that snacking fun!

  2. Dear Dallas,

    We’re so pleased to hear you’re dogtur thinks you’re as fit as a fiddle, even though we admit we’ve never seen a fiddle in the Olympics so we’re not sure how fit they can really be! Humans are strange, aren’t they? Compare you to a fiddle and then make you behave like Usain Bolt in training! Let us know if you need rescued from this appalling fitness regime – we shall happily assist with digging an escape tunnel big enough for you and a month’s supply of cookies…

    Love, T&T

    • Dear Tommy & Tuppence: What an outstanding idea, an escape tunnel from the dreadmill! My mama seems to think I need to be svelte and buff, all at the same time. These silly humans! I’ll keep Mama appeased for a while, but when I’ve reached the end of my patience, I’ll send out the signal and you two can come set me free. We’ll be like Houdini!! Love and kisses, Dallas

  3. Dallas, I can’t even imagine you on a treadmill. Why, I hardly can make one work myself. But I think I have an idea for you. Instead of calling it a treadmill, convince your Mama that the Dogtur said “Treatmill!” That ought to do it!

    • “Treatmill”?? I Dallas love it! Something, however, tells me Mama and Dogtur wouldn’t be as sold on the idea. I’d rather do my walkie outdoors, but Mama refuses to slosh through 3.5 inches of snow — she’s adamant the “dreadmill” is a worthy replacement. And actually, I don’t have to do anything but walk. She does the setup, operates the controls, and such, then I go to the cookie cabinet and wait. And she usually complies … not always, but usually. Maybe it’s not a bad trade, ya think??

    • Miss Donna, I Dallas am blushing at your kind words! Yes, treats are a MUST — every good dog deserves them (and part of me thinks even the not-so-good dogs deserve them perhaps more!)

  4. Dallas, so happy you are ‘fit as a fiddle’ and using your keen intelligence to make the best of of the treadmill challenge (ie, cookie treats!!) If you looked at me, I’m afraid I would give you anything you wanted (you are REALLY cute) but your mama is made of sterner stuff. Be good. If you can’t be good, at least be careful! (Sage advice my papa gave before sending me off to uni!) Hugs (careful ones) & blogging kisses (if that’s allowed) – Virginia :)

    • Miss Virginia, I Dallas thank you LOTS for your kind words! I just finished four whole minutes on the “dreadmill,” and Mama says I’m doing great. Do I enjoy it? Not particularly, but I suspect it’s a nice thing to have when there’s ice and snow on the ground. At least I’m exercising. Hugs and lickey-kisses right back to you!!

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