Bad Dogs, Bad, Bad Dogs

I am supposed to be exercising and don’t I know it.  Instead, I am hiding from the humidity and heat and babysitting my beau’s two bull terriers, the infamous Pitney and Shea.  I can honestly say infamous because last Christmas when the entire Poquoson police department banged on our door well past midnight. Don’t be too impressed, there are like, maybe three officers in the entire Poquoson police department.  It was then that they told me they were well acquainted with the dogs and would wait for me to put them up.  I almost didn’t, put them up, I mean.  I was pretty annoyed that they had come calling and all because a young man of another race had delivered my suitcase at the untimely hour of 11:50 p.m. that very night.  The whole thing smacked of chicken fried racism to me but Bob try to reassure me that it was nothing more than, ‘small town vigilance’. 

As if. 

Seriously?  If local law enforcement knew Bob’s dogs so darn well then they should have known that any stranger who meant me harm surely would have had Pitney and Shea’s jaws, paws and formidable claws to deal with.  Bob’s brother often half-joked that forensics would be picking up evidence with a microscope and tweezers if Bob’s dogs ever decided to do away with a would-be intruder on my behalf.  And his brother was a police detective so he wasn’t really kidding. 

Still, I’d hate to see Bob’s girls get in (any more) trouble so I keep a very close watch on them. That is my totally lame excuse for not exercising right now.  I know, I know, cancer survivors should exercise. A lot as it turns out.  I know this better than most.  There is an excellent article reminding us all that we should be exercising so much so that the author actually emailed me about my blog and nicely requested that I might mention it. Ok, ok, so he’s got a point.  Thirty minutes five times a week isn’t the end of the earth, trust me, we cancer survivors spent a whole lot more time than that just thinking about trying to get out of bed whilst between chemo infusions.  So, we know the relative value of time, even if we are miserly about it, post cancer. 

That’s the thing about surviving cancer, you start hoarding time like it was diamonds or something far more valuable because cancer teaches us all that time is the most valuable commodity of all and it’s all we have; some of us, more than others.  But surviving cancer gives you a perspective on time that a friend or acquaintance simply will never have, unless they battle the dreaded Big C themselves. 

So, yeah, we should be exercising and I will, I will, just as soon as I’ve finished my nap and Bob gets home and his very bad dogs are cleared of any neighborhood misdeeds.  

After all, I’ve got time.

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