Chapter 2: A day in the park.
If your dog is fat, you're not getting enough exercise. ~Author Unknown
Sunday Morning
It was a beautiful autumn morning. There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, an endless blue blanket covered the heavens crowned by a bright yellow sun that kindly shared its warmth with those who dared to go out and enjoy the chilly wind and go to the park.
There were some fraternity boys playing football, showing their competitive side while they threw the ball at each other and as they flirted with the girls who were just a few feet away riding their bikes and muttering at each other, their gazes firmly set on the boys' firm muscles hidden by their sports clothing.
There were some sports aficionados jogging in the designated paths, each in their own rhythm, some nodding to each other as their paths might have crossed before.
And there were the dog owners.
There were those who took their pooches for a walk.
And those whose pooches took them for a run.
The doggie park was in a separated area, properly fenced to keep the canines into an enclosed space and not endanger those who might get too friendly with an unknown dog without the presence of its owner and, as result, be bitten or lose a limb.
That was a rare situation but it could happen, so precautions were taken.
Barking was heard along with the shouted orders of this or that dog owner, asking to fetch a ball or a toy thrown into the air.
It was on such fine morning that one of those dogs took his owner for a run. His excited barking rang through the air, as his owner ran in a desperate attempt to keep up with his four legged friend.
Despite having lost several pounds and now being on top of his shape, Special Agent Timothy McGee still had a hard time to keep up with the bundle of energy is his dog was. Regardless of the fact he wasn't a puppy anymore – in fact, Jethro the dog was a retired drug dog – he still had stamina of youth, barking excitedly at raccoons, butterflies or birds, jumping excitedly at cats or just dragging his owner by the leash through the park.
"Jethro, for christ's sake stop!" McGee shouted, pulling the leash as his lungs started to burn thanks to the spontaneous marathon Jethro forced him to run. He stopped on shaking legs, his muscles cramping so much from the effort to keep up that he had to support his hands on his knees, taking a few minutes to normalize his breathing and slow down his thundering heart.
Meanwhile, Jethro just danced excitedly at his feet, tangling the leash around his owner's legs. McGee stepped out of the trap, taking a long leg out of the mess and smiled at the simple enthusiasm the dog showed at him. His long tongue hung out of his mouth, brown eyes shining mischievously as if daring McGee to keep up with him.
"You are… are… a bad dog." McGee said between deep breaths, hearing his heart still loudly ringing on his ears.
He looked to the side where the dog area was, gesturing at it with his head. "Wanna burn some energy with your friends, buddy? I think I need a break."
Jethro whined, lifting a paw as if to shake hands.
"Okay, we can keep playing a little bit. But we have to leave before three, okay?"
Jethro barked, his tail wagging excitedly at the perspective of more playtime.
McGee smiled and shook his head at the dog. Long gone was the mistrust he had towards the animal. They had a rough start, with Jethro attacking him ia n drugged state of mind, but he was an affectionate pet. Impossible to find a better companion, especially as his hours were extremely irregular and his love life was closer to that of a monk.
Shaking his head at the unwelcomed wave of self-pity that filled his heart, McGee petted the head of the dog affectionately, receiving excited licks in return. He didn't think it was odd that he talked to Jethro. A lot of people did the same thing with their pets. He probably did that just to have the satisfaction to have someone totally focused on him, without passing judgment, with no mocking or McNicknames being thrown at him.
He had no illusion that the dog understood a word he said to him, but he was content to simply have someone to talk to.
He smiled as he looked for something on his small sports backpack, "I guess we could play a little bit more. What do you think we play with… a Frisbee?" He showed a bright red Frisbee he had just dug out.
The answer he received was a mad wiggling tail and a sloppy doggy smile.
