He was a white chihuahua mix and he was a nervous dog. You could make him roll over and act dead like a cartoon dog just by staring at him hard enough. He was beta to our beta dog but he could love on you like no ones's business.
He had this thing where he'd walk behind you on the back of the couch and fall sideways so his back was pressed against your neck, curling into a tiny white ball of fur and warmth. He would stay there as long as you'd let him.
This is a running story though...
We were at the cemetary in Milledgeville Georgia visiting Flannery O'Conner's grave. We had all three dogs. And P-nut got loose. He tore off around that garveyard, stopping to pee on differant gravestones, looking back at us and running again.
I had never seen him run like that. He looked like one of those greyhounds racing after a rabbit, legs swung in and under, fast as lightening. It was such a shame when my wife finally stopped him. She just stood there and grimaced. Thats all it took. He stopped, looked up at her, rolled over and played dead.
Mostly P-nut was timid. He always had this whooped look on his face. You know it when you see it. You know it if you'd had it. Somewhere along the way he'd gotten beat and that never left his mind except that one day in Milledgeville.
P-nut died a few months ago. We came home one rainy night and found him curled on the floor. I hadn't paid him much mind all that week. I'd been busy. I dug his hole, tugged his ear one last time and buried him in the rain.
I'd like to remember him as that racing dog because I think he had big dreams just like I got. He just had less chance to try them out. He was mousy most days and awkward but that one time he was Emil Zapotek or whatever the dog version of fast and dangerous is. I think in his heart that's the dog he always wanted to be.
I sometimes think of all those "all or nothing" racers when I run but I end up backing off. I'm afraid to fail. I'm afraid, if I just go for it, I might come up short. P-nut saw his chance and took it. I need to step up. I need to leave it all on the trail. I need to race like my boy P-nut.
He had this thing where he'd walk behind you on the back of the couch and fall sideways so his back was pressed against your neck, curling into a tiny white ball of fur and warmth. He would stay there as long as you'd let him.
This is a running story though...
We were at the cemetary in Milledgeville Georgia visiting Flannery O'Conner's grave. We had all three dogs. And P-nut got loose. He tore off around that garveyard, stopping to pee on differant gravestones, looking back at us and running again.
I had never seen him run like that. He looked like one of those greyhounds racing after a rabbit, legs swung in and under, fast as lightening. It was such a shame when my wife finally stopped him. She just stood there and grimaced. Thats all it took. He stopped, looked up at her, rolled over and played dead.
Mostly P-nut was timid. He always had this whooped look on his face. You know it when you see it. You know it if you'd had it. Somewhere along the way he'd gotten beat and that never left his mind except that one day in Milledgeville.
P-nut died a few months ago. We came home one rainy night and found him curled on the floor. I hadn't paid him much mind all that week. I'd been busy. I dug his hole, tugged his ear one last time and buried him in the rain.
I'd like to remember him as that racing dog because I think he had big dreams just like I got. He just had less chance to try them out. He was mousy most days and awkward but that one time he was Emil Zapotek or whatever the dog version of fast and dangerous is. I think in his heart that's the dog he always wanted to be.
I sometimes think of all those "all or nothing" racers when I run but I end up backing off. I'm afraid to fail. I'm afraid, if I just go for it, I might come up short. P-nut saw his chance and took it. I need to step up. I need to leave it all on the trail. I need to race like my boy P-nut.
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