I just have to tell you

"Dogs are not our whole life -- but they make our life whole."

This may seem like a weird post to some, and a year ago it would seem crazy to me.
The story begins like this. I come home from a long day of work and Joe says to me, "Let's get a dog."
You know how the story ends up the next day we are at the Humane Society for 5 consecutive days finding us a dog that meets our checklist.

1. Must be good with babies
2. Must be able to run
3. Must tolerate cats
4. Must be well behaved
5. Must be a lab
6. Must love us unconditionally

For the next 3 months after we've have had Blacky, I keep wondering what's wrong with him. Why would someone give him up? I don't understand. I keep waiting for him to tear up stuff, become aggressive or some other bad behavior that would make you get rid of a dog. While there are many things we don't know about his previous owner or life we do know this. He has an unconditional amount of love to give.

He's my sidekick he follows me around all day and by my side twenty four seven. He's my training partner no matter if its the crack of dawn, or right before the sun goes down he's ready for our training run. Him pulling me the first two miles and me dragging him the last three. If I'm on the treadmill he's right by the side waiting to slime me if I get off.

He let's Tymon use him as a step stool, crawl all over him and shove chapstick down his throat (true story) and yet he's still as happy as can be to be here. Sure he gets hair everywhere, has horrible gas (no joke, its bad) and refuses to miss a meal--we love him to death.

I'm pretty sure Joe knew I needed Blacky more than I did. Its weird how that works out. Joe hates dogs. But not Blacky. I have a half marathon coming up the end of next month and I'm pretty sure I couldn't do it alone. That's when I call in my sidekick, and don't worry he'll be there one of us dragging the other.