Walks with Jack

At my dad's house we have a Golden Retriever named Jack. Jack is...well, crazy would be the best word for it. But lately I've noticed something else. Although both my dad and I run on a daily basis, Jack is actually out of shape. You wouldn't know this by looking at him:



But walks with Jack are always an interesting event. First of all, recognition of his leash as time for a walk seems to be about the only idea we can get to diffuse through his thick skull. Actually, it's probably one of the few times that we get to see him calm. It's like he dares not to move because his treat might be taken away from him.

But then when we get outside my 90-pound dog begins pulling frantically on his leash. My boyfriend and I tried to teach him to heel once. Our walk ended up taking a half an hour to walk three blocks because we stopped every time he pulled. You might think that, while he wouldn't immediately pick up the trick, Jack might at least get a little hint. But no, he pulled until he was wheezing against his collar, but when we loosened it the memory of this discomfort was long gone. I'm not entirely sure that he has long-term memory.

But despite all of this vivacity in the beginning of his walk, Jack begins to tire after about a mile. And this isn't just in those hot Iowa summers that make even me feel like I'm in some sort of desert. Towards the end of every walk, Jack begins to look up at me like "Aren't we finished yet?" His gait turns into a slow, lumbering one as he pants and continues to look searchingly for signs that we're almost home. I find this very strange as most days one can find Jack sprinting around the backyard in circles for no particular reason. And when I say sprinting, I mean really sprinting. Where does all the energy that he puts into jumping and biting me in greeting go?