At 5:15 this morning, my dog, Scooter, was standing on the floor by the foot of the bed looking like he was gonna puke. He'd been to his dog friend's birthday party on Saturday night (a party humans were able to enjoy just as much as the dogs) where he'd been treated to doggie ice cream and other doggies treats, and at 5:15 in the a.m., it seemed that all of that was going to come back up.
So I leashed him up and took him for a stroll in the predawn hour. It was still dark out, but the humidity was already oppressive; I felt vindicated to discover that the early morning was no cooler than the late evening (thus justifying my need to sleep in and save my runs for night). We walked about half a block, and Scooter did not barf but he did attend to other business and that must've settled his stomach. On our return, I spotted another solitary human out, and lo and behold, it was someone running.
He jogged on past us and waved a sweaty "hello" and I immediately felt guilty. Here I was, a supposed runner, counting the seconds until I could return to the cool comfort of my bed when he was out here in the wee hours getting it done. The morning runners always seem more dedicated than the rest of us, and they know it -- smug bastards.
Anyway, the guilt didn't linger long. Once Scooter and I went back into the air conditioned house and snuggled into our cool beds, we were both sound asleep.