Floor Potato

There's a reason why I don't exercise. I just can't tell you what it is right now. The best I can come up with is that it's easier not to. When I exercise, I feel better. But I prefer not to exercise, so I guess that means I prefer not to feel better. Let's be honest. I complain about my arthritis and take my drugs (actually they shove them down my throat while I gag), but I'm really not taking responsibility for feeling better. What does that say about me as a dog other than that I'm an idiot? (Remember, we're not too smart to begin with, so an idiot dog is in single-digit IQ numbers.) What dog wouldn't do something as obvious as exercise when he knows it will help his arthritis? Me. The idiot.

I guess I'm not really an idiot. It's just that it seems so difficult to exercise. It's overwhelming thinking about running through the yard, under the fence, around the trash cans and through the garage. And what if the garage door isn't open. Then what. Well, my exercise stops. See, it's just too difficult for a dog to exercise. It's a lot easier to sniff tree trunks and building corners and lie down next to the door in the kitchen. Because if I lie just right, it doesn't hurt too much.

Plus, I could exercise if I didn't have arthritis. That's right. It's the arthritis that keeps me from exercising. If I were a healthy dog, I would be able to compete in dog races and probably win. But with the body I have, I could practice for years and never be as good as a normal dog. So why chase the bone at all?

If I were a human, I would have all the cool exercise equipment to use, and indoor swimming pools in the winter and outdoor pools in the summer, and saunas and steam rooms and personal trainers and rowing machines and treadmills and basketball courts and bowling alleys and $200 running shoes and outfits I could wear to the gym and $1,200 bicycles I could run stop signs and red lights with. Now that would get me exercising. There's really no excuse for a human not to exercise. But dogs? We're different.