It made me realize exactly how out-of-shape I am. I took a route that usually takes me about fifteen minutes to complete with a forty-pound bike (but hopefully I will be getting a new one for college…). Today, I used my mum’s bike, which weighs maybe half as much as mine. The fifteen-minute route took me at least twenty minutes. I finally had to get off the bike and push it up the last hill to my house, pushing my chubster dog in front of me.
Which brings me to my second point of the day. I love my dog.
I love her for her cuteness, and how warm she is on lonely nights when she cuddles with me, and the fact that she is very possessive and protective (but not obnoxiously so). But most of all, I love her for how she absolutely trusts me. When it’s time for a bath, she never wants one, but neither does she ever suspect that I’m going to get soap in her eyes or accidentally hurt her. When we’re going down a hill on a bike with her in the front basket, she leans out to feel the wind in her face. She knows I won’t crash.
I absolutely, unconditionally, love her.
But she is a chubster. She’s small for her breed, which means she should weigh between eight and eleven pounds. She weighs 13.6 pounds, or at least she did the last time I checked. Even when it’s on the front of a bike that only weighs twenty pounds, that extra thirteen pounds really makes things more challenging.
I suppose I probably shouldn’t complain. I’m small for my breed, too, and I’m rather a chubster myself. Hence the bike ride.
