battle-beasting

hours.
and hours.
and hours.
miles.
and miles.
and miles.
that's how the days begin-

crabtree tethered to me,
and my hand on the lead,
and our legs pumping and propelling us across the woodsly goodness,
exploring and expanding our territory
and seeing what the mountains have to offer us.
i'm interested in all the exercise we're getting,
and all the togetherness we get to experience as a tandem twosome.
he's interested in whatever F*ing horrible gross roadside edibles there might be.
seriously.
i've extracted some very soggy, soupy, poopy bits and pieces from his drippy maw
on almost every occasion we've been out and about.
he finds the filth, neighbors.
that's his thing.
we walk and walk and walk,
and hopefully, he gets a little tired.
more often, however, we get home,
and while i'm spent from all the uphill struggling we've conquered,
my little warrior walks through the door,
takes a deep breath,
and immediately starts sprinting, spinning, jumping, leaping, lunging,
and careening through the Folk Life & Liberty Fortress.
jeez.
i don't understand how he can never ever ever be tired.
i'm not much for rest, nor relaxation,
but damn, duders,
he's up so early,
and up so late,
and taking it to eleven for all the times we span in-between.
occasionally,
he'll take a lie down,
in amongst his treasures,
but he makes sure to keep me in his eyeline:

i mean,
just in case there's a need to start effing with me,
he wants to be assured of his proximity,
should there be a call to gnaw on, chomp on, munch up, shred, rip, tear,
or otherwise destroy whatever small moment of productivity i'm undertaking.
yeah.
that's his thing.
*
i find myself beside myself when he gets all fired up.
i do,
and i hate it.
i want to be the calm center of the hurricane,
not a contrasting cyclone whirling devilishly dervish against him.
y'know?
but,
he's impervious to discipline,
and he knows no fear.
it's not that i don't understand the concept of positive reinforcement.
i'm not a total A*-hole.
it's that after a week of sleepless dog-battles deep into every evening,
and 4 a.m. wake-ups every morning
i'm just a little short-fused,
and my shortcomings all rise up long before my logic overrides
the knee-jerk juggernaut of overreaction.
yikes.
the thing of it is,
a peanut buttery dog-chew is all it takes to be completely forgiven for
raging and railing against the stubborn innocence of his instinctive preferences.
that's one heck of a cheap date.
he's a furious ball of calamitous energy,
i am a frenzied force of infinite nature-
together,
we bring out the best and worst of each other,
as it should be.
he's a good little dude, kinda;
and i'm a good dog dad, kinda.
we're figuring it out as we go,
and our mutually hard styles and individual determination
make for a collision of nurture and nature;
werewolf and dogbaby;
and sleep stays away,
because we've got way too much work to do;
never quiet, never soft.....