For one night at least, the Rocket was back!

Poor Kila – she is getting on 8, and bears her share of Genevieve’s monopoly on the schedule. Each year she seems to get a little slower a little sooner, a little gimpier a little easier, a little less eager to run and run and run. She still gets run almost every day, almost. But more and more they are my weary walks in the desert for a mile or 2, or maybe a short walk to the park with an unclear delineation between freedom to nubby-nose and wanton leashing. Or sprints to the park on the bike, followed by boredom, followed by sprints home; and sprints on the road just beat her up.

The other night, i came home full of Xmas party food and Jack Daniels and no workout, to an un-run dog that was deprioritized.   It was brisk, i grabbed the Heckler cuz while i was far too drunk for tricks i wanted to sit on the bike that felt most like the couch. When we got to the pink park, i realized i had forgotten a leash, just as i remembered i had stuck a fresh bourbon in a water bottle in my back pocket. It was late, and cold – the only thing i could hope for to make this night more deserted would be a drizzle.   Kila has made it almost a mile without even raising my concern – i knew no leash would be no problem.

So the mandate for a Jason\Kila connection was established, and Kila did not disappoint.   We rolled through the park and the church and the drainage basins and the dark places off the road that are kind on her paws, skulked our way onto the Red Mountain Ranch golf course where i was treated to the pounding of her feet across the fairway, again and again and again, through the spinklers and the patches of light, with her ears pinned back and her dog-smile ablaze.   Go Dog Go.   We used to have runs like this a couple time a week, and as we crept past the Walgreens and back through the neighborhood, i wondered how many great dog runs we will still have?

Many.