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I live with two dogs, one cranky almost-12-year-old and one puppy, whose fur is spun by baby silk moths.
Some weeks, I have an extra dog on loan from a vacationing friend, a super-fierce Yorkie who can hide inside an oven mitt if he needs to. Essentially, I live in dog world, where all we do is rip the fluff out of stuffed bats and bunnies and look for better and better places to pee.
I love this place but sometimes it makes me feel like chewing on my own feet or walking around in 17 circles before I lie down. This is usually a good time to do something dogs just can’t do – that is, sweat.
So I run. Most of my runs kind of blend together. Perhaps my throat felt very dry on Monday and then on Wednesday, I wish I had worn the other socks. But two of my recent excursions really stand out and although they both involved plenty of sweating, on neither run did I actually escape.
RUN 1: The Purple Leg
This is not the first run chronologically, but this story just can’t follow the other, which features majestic beauty. This one features my left leg, a few inches of it anyhow, in a mouth.
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