When my son and his new wife went on their honeymoon, I volunteered to take their dog.
Fran is a sixty pound, two-year-old Aredale.
She has a really sweet and happy disposition but is full of energy. I work from home which allows me to give her lots of attention. However, I also need to be productive at my job. She was constantly pawing at me, wanting to play fetch or tug on her rope. I finally decided that I should take her on a run to burn off the excess energy. I keep myself in good physical shape and often go for five-mile runs around the neighborhood. There is a running path in close proximity to my house that extends for 30 miles in either direction. My son regularly takes the dogs on runs, so I knew she was accustomed to the exertion. As soon as I snapped on the leash, the dog began dragging me down the road. I thought she was going to jerk my arm right out of the socket. I had failed to consider that my son is 6 feet tall and in his mid-twenties. I am 5-feet tall and in my mid-fifties. I cannot run at the pace the dog is used to. It was a struggle to slow her down to a comfortable walk. We walked for several miles. When she appeared tired, I gradually increased our speed to a pleasant jog. After that, she was content to run at my desired pace. We ran for another three miles and both enjoyed it very much.