Finally crawled out of bed and crept around the block with the puppy dog. Fortified myself with fluids. Uncovered the bicycle.
Took another nap.
Eased out of bed. Stumbled outside with the puppy dog.
Unlocked the bicycle.
Went back inside to rest. Drank fluids.
Located the nice black back pack we found at Goodwill for 99 cents.
Loaded it up with dog leash, poop baggies, emergency phone, emergency meds, bottle of water, keys to motorhome, keys to bicycle lock.
Found the special bungee cord that holds it all to the rear bike rack.
Padded Harley's bike basket with one of his little blankets.
Harley was patrolling circles around me and the bike in anticipation that we might actually go somewhere besides back to bed.
I figured we could just peddle around the campground. Once we got going, I thought oh what the heck, let's pray for a miracle and keep peddling.
Harley was whining and fussing. Not sure why. Might have been his way of saying "Come on, you can do it, let's go to the canine crib!"
Harley was thrilled we made it to the off leash dog park. I was pretty pooped from the effort of just finally arriving. He waited in his basket while I fussed with the bicycle lock, then I carefully lifted him out, put on his leash and sat him down. He tried to forcibly drag me to the doggy park gates.
There was a congenial crowd.
Maybe someone would revive me, if I passed right out.
Dripping in sweat from either the ride or the fever or both, I managed to drink nearly all the water and play toss the ball with Harley.
I wondered if I would have the energy to ride back home. I figured we would just have to stay awhile while I built up the stamina.
Harley actually began bringing the ball right back to my feet, like suddenly his brain gets it, that dropping it twenty feet away doesn't count.
When he would drop it far away, I would complain he should bring it closer. Then I moved at a snails pace to go retrieve it while he waited impatiently.
I finally reached the ball and tossed it again. It must have seemed like forever to him. I used to rush over to grab the ball, but today I was moving super slow.
Once thrown, I cheered him on to bring it back to me. TO ME, not fifteen feet away, not twenty feet away, bring it TO ME.
Finally his little tiny noggin figured it out! He actually began bringing it right to my feet. Maybe he didn't like waiting anxiously for the next throw while I spent precious minutes creeping over to where he usually just randomly drops it.
He seemed rather smitten with this feat, so I rewarded him by promptly throwing it again every time he deposited it at my feet. Anywhere else and I started moving in very slow motion.
Maybe I am learning something...
Maybe he is learning something...
|Harley snoozes contentedly after we get back home.|