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This past weekend, I journeyed with women from my church up to the mountains. We stayed in a borrowed cabin and went for a walk in the woods. Our theme for the get-a-way was boundaries in health and fitness.

After my arrival on Friday evening, a friend and I went for a walk about on the roads weaving through the cabins. She gave me a warning to keep an eye out for pit bulls. Recalling one infamous Virginia pit bull breeder and the puppy mills known to be in the mountains, I understood her caution.

I prayed against any pit bull attacks and enjoyed the walk through the woods. All was going fairly well and only got slightly dicey when we walked behind a cabin that may have been operating a still. We increased our rate of speed and quickly turned another direction.

After we had walked a fair amount and taken many turns, the barking started. We both looked up the hill at a white and black pit bull that looked very much like Petey on the Little Rascals. We stopped and backed up. He was barking loudly, but his tail was wagging. I felt sympathy for him because he was chained to a tree.

Earlier in my life, I had no love for pit bulls. My female husky, Sasha, was attacked by a bull terrier when she was a puppy. After that incident, I hated both bull terriers and pit bulls. Then I started watching the dog whisperer with his dog, Daddy, and the attempted rehabilitation of Vick’s dogs and saw the possibility that maybe all pit bulls were not evil.

That evening, while we were all sitting around the fire, a black and white female pit bull came up to the sliding glass door. It was obvious that she had recently had puppies. She sat down outside, tail wagging like crazy, and lifted one paw after another begging to come in. Amongst us, were several women afraid of dogs and other women afraid of fleas. I tried to look away, but the pit bull mommy knew who in the group was a push over and stared at me with these sad pleading eyes, tail wagging, paws lifting, begging to come in. Finally, I had to look away. I felt too bad. She eventually left.

Later, a friend and I went out to my van to get two cots. When I opened the back of the van, the pit bull mommy appeared and jumped in. I froze and then unhelpfully scolded her and told her to get out. She was quite happy in the back of the van, and wasn’t leaving. Finally, my friend (who quickly determined that I was hopeless in this situation) picked her up out of the van and held her on the ground while I shut the door. The entire time, the pit bull mommy was attempting to jump back in.

Also wandering around was the pit bull daddy. His tail was wagging as well, but my friend thought it best if we backed slowly into the house.

Another friend (who comes armed to mountain cabins) was out at the store when all this happened. I asked my friend to text her and plead with her not to shoot the pit bull on the front porch.

She made no promises.

Luckily for my guilty heart, by the time she returned from the store, the mommy pit bull had disappeared into the night.

My dear friend loves animals and although she owns two cats and for a limited time a hibernating hamster, she has long pined for a puppy. Her husband does not love animals and held out on the puppy request until there were no children left to potty train.

For months, she has been scanning collie rescue sights seeking a collie mix to call her own. A few weeks past, up popped a photo of a puppy too cute to resist and off she went to claim her. I wish I could tell you that all has been love and happiness ever since. However, that would make for a boring story.

When acquiring a mixed breed dog, I highly recommend you attempt to determine which breeds created the mix. The hesitation taken while determining breed mix might give you enough time to back out quickly. Unfortunately for my friend, she did not consider the rest of the mix. She heard the Collie part and away she went.  After three days of puppy sitting and observing this dog dashing around at a frenetic pace, I have come to suspect that the Collie part has been overrun by the Jack Russell Terrier part.

This puppy ran loops at extremely high speeds and would dash from room to room to room in a never ending check on what was happening. She bolted up and down stairs to see what was going on. She launched herself onto furniture, people, and Blaze. She chased squirrels, birds, and Patches. She did not stop until I put her in her kennel to sleep. Even then, she would catch sight of the neighbor dog, a bird, or a squirrel and bark at it for good measure.

We had to block the stairs with an old crib rail to prevent her from going up to pester Patches, but that did not stop Patches from coming down to tease the puppy. Patches would sit on the steps just the other side of the rail and stare at the puppy. This would drive the puppy nuts, so Dale hung a blanket over the rail to block the view. Then, Patches moved up several steps and peered over the top of the blanket.

As a result of these antics, we were less than sympathetic when the puppy actually caught Patches unaware in the kitchen and started chasing her around the kitchen/office/hall loop. Because the stairs were blocked, Patches could not get up them quickly. I would have caught the puppy sooner had I not been laughing so hard at the sight of Patches’ big belly dragging on the floor as she skittered and hissed and tried to make her escape.

Blaze was on duty three days straight and taught the puppy games to play: fetch, keep away, wrestling, and “I’ll take that stick, thank you very much.” The puppy did not relent no matter how many times he knocked her back. She jumped on Blaze time and time again. Eventually, he would get sick of it and sit on her which made us all laugh.

The puppy could not quite grab the ball in her mouth, so we would throw two sticks instead, one for Blaze, one for her. Blaze would fetch his stick, bring it back, and then grab the end of the stick the puppy was carrying and take it away from her.

I put the kids on 10 minute “keep the puppy entertained in the yard” cycles in an attempt to exhaust her. Instead, she exhausted us. Blaze felt it the worst. The morning after her arrival, he stood up, hobbled a ways, and then stretched for a really long time.

In 17 days, I will join Dale and Josiah in running the 5k Turkey Trot. Josiah should finish in 20 minutes, Dale should finish in 22 minutes, and (here’s hoping) I will finish in at least 40 minutes. I fear Josiah may finally break 20 minutes this year and be able to claim that he is twice as fast as his mother.

Zeke claims, once again, that he now wants to run the mile fun run. Upon completion of last year’s race, he declared, “I never want to do that again!” Dale made a similar claim after each of his marathons. The declaration finally held true after the third.

During the last two months, I have been able to complete the 3.1 mile distance once a week. On my other two running days, I run for 20 minutes (1.5 miles) and 30 minutes (2.3 miles) respectively. If I happen to pull a fourth running day out during the week, I run another 20 minutes.

I do no hill workouts, no speed workouts, no strength workouts. My goal since January has simply been to run the distance without stopping.

Unfortunately, this goal is not a satisfactory goal for Blaze. When he is with me, he tries to inspire me to a faster tempo by running ahead; he frequently fertilizes the grass so I can work on sudden deceleration; and he periodically looks up at me as if to say, “Seriously, lady, is this all you got?”

One of his favorite activities is to try to goad me into playing “catch me if you can.” I’ll see him sitting on the back steps and I’ll grab the leash. As soon as I open the door, he will dash down into the backyard daring me to chase and catch him. Unfortunately for him, it never works. I know I cannot catch him, so I just close the door and leave for the run without him. He will then run over to the back gate to watch me go, giving me an accusatory (you’re a poor sport) look.

This 10 month training plan to run 3.1 miles has had its starts and stops, injury breaks, and discouraging days. However, since January, I have lost ten pounds and gained more energy and a better sleeping pattern.

When I started 10 months ago, I could not run 1/4 mile without stopping. During every 3.1 mile run, somewhere in between 1.5 and 2.5 miles, I want to quit. On my practice course, there is a small incline, just prior to the 2.5 mile mark that discourages me each time I run. Some runners have heartbreak hill, I simply have discouraging incline.

It is not an insurmountable obstacle, just the drudgery of the uphill that slows me down (and believe me there isn’t a lot slower I can go) and makes me ask myself, “Why am I doing this?” The thought always returns first with, “It is not worth it, just quit.” This is the place where my stubborn character is beneficial.

After 10 months, I can’t say that I love running, but I do know that I no longer hate it.

I am still plodding along towards my goal of running the 5k (3.1 mile) Turkey Trot in November on Thanksgiving morning. At the end of June, I was feeling good and had worked my way up to two miles.

Then the summer heat and my inherent laziness dealt me a blow. The temperature repeatedly rose above 90 degrees and with high humidity, even at 0800, I lacked all energy to run very far. My runs shortened to a mile or a mile and a half. When I finished running, I would be dripping with sweat.

One morning, in a heat daze, I found myself walking along and it slowly dawned on me that I was no longer running. “When did I stop running?” I wondered, but had no answer. Thankfully, I arrived home safely. I drank a lot of water that day, for I recalled the dazed man I saw almost collapse within sight of the finish line at Dale’s last race. The man had no idea where he was or what he was doing. A kind bystander, who he almost collapsed on, helped him across the finish line and into an ambulance.

In my dazed state, I thought I could hear past drill instructors yelling at me from my memories, “Drink Water!”

Blaze wasn’t too keen on these summer runs either. At the end of each run, he would be panting heavily, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Trust me, this wasn’t a result of my rate of speed. To get back at me for this torture, Blaze would take an inconvenient nature break that forced me to carry a smelly bag as we plodded towards home.

During the summer, I was the one taking Blaze out of his kennel in the morning, so he couldn’t escape the leash that forced him to run. Now that school has started, Gabe feeds him and puts him out in the backyard first thing. The other morning when I opened the back door, leash in hand, ready for the run, Blaze high tailed it down the steps and under the porch before I could grab him. Not wanting to crawl under the porch to drag him out and not wanting to play “Catch me if you can!” (which I can’t), I just went running by myself. As I left, he sat at the gate and watched me go.

Last week, the oppressive heat finally broke and I began to consider reaching the two mile mark again. I set before Dale the task of finding me a two mile route. While it is true that Dale already has a two mile route starting at our house, plotted out for Josiah. It is also true that I don’t like that route, because it involves hills.

Be warned: If Dale has plotted out a route, it is best not to disparage it in any way.

I asked him to plot out my new route along a flat stretch of road in distances of 2 miles, 2 1/4 miles, 2 1/2 miles, 2 3/4 miles, 3 miles, and 3.1 miles. While Dale was attempting to do this, I interrupted him and asked him to do something else.

Be warned: This annoying habit of asking someone to do one thing and while they are in the middle of it, asking them to do another thing, is my best effort to drive family members, relatives, and friends crazy. When I do this to you, consider yourself one of the family.

Because of the second thing I asked Dale to do, he was never able to finish my new routes. However, he did tell me where exactly the one mile mark would be.

A few days later, I ran the route Dale originally plotted for Josiah.

Be warned: I do some things just out of spite.

There has been a racket in our laundry room over the last several weeks as two birds had decided to build a nest inside our laundry vent. I had assumed that there was some kind of grate between the dryer hose inside and the vent outside. I assumed the nest was outside, but we could hear it inside. This was a wrong assumption. Patches (the fat cat) knew better.

She had been listening and stalking the laundry room for the past week. Over the course of the last several days, the chirping had grown steadily louder and more urgent. It sounded like pleas for food from several baby birds.

There was such a ruckus in there yesterday morning, Zeke was afraid to enter lest a bird jump out and peck him. I do not understand how the birds were surviving the heat coming out of the dryer vent, but assumed they were above or below the direct flow.

Yesterday, I moved the dryer out a ways so Gabe could inspect the situation. He was convinced the birds were in the house, I was convinced they were in the wall. Patches was convinced they would make a good snack.

Moving the dryer back a bit was all the help she needed. She had been stalking for so long without action, we had all grown complacent.

I was at a meeting when Abby called in distress. “Patches knocked the dryer hose off of the wall! The nest was in the hose! We don’t hear anything anymore! We think she ate the baby birds!”

I told her to get Patches out of there and close the door until Dale got home and we could figure out what to do.

Patches spent some time meowing at the laundry room door, then relocated herself to the back sliding glass door. With her tail twitching, she watched the adult birds fly up to the glass and give her a scolding.

When I arrived home, Dale, Gabe, and I went into the laundry room to investigate. Dale pulled the dryer hose off the back of the dryer and carried it outside. He removed a fully constructed nest out from the hose.

Unfortunately, there were no longer any occupants. Gabe found one small feather as evidence against her.

When I asked her if she ate the baby birds, she just gave me a look. She gave the same look to Abby the other day when Abby got a tissue to smash a spider that Patches was watching. After Patches gave Abby the look, Abby backed away. Patches then snatched the spider off the wall and ate it for an afternoon snack.