My dad recently discovered his addiction to running. Probably the competitive nature within him was thinking, "If my daughter can run a marathon pregnant, then I have no excuses." He's gone seriously gung ho with his mileage lately.
Today, Dad called me to report about his goal of 35 miles this week, and how this morning's run went.
Luckily for him, he is able to run along a greenbelt every morning with his two Labradors (aka his favorite children). Frequently the dogs will get into a tussle with a procupine, chase a bird, or have a face off with a skunk. But today, as Dad was running, his black lab trotted up alongside him with a mouth full of turkey. As in, an entire, feathers and all, bird.
Dad kept talking, but I was stuck on the idea that Dad was running...with a turkey, a REAL turkey...in his jacket. Having been raised by a real outdoors man, I knew what he was thinking: Why waste a perfectly good turkey? They make good soup.
"When I got home, I noticed that the turkey just...didn't smell right. It seemed a little off. It definitely wasn't any good. So I decided not to eat it."
Really. A dead turkey...that your dog found...on the Greenway....and you shoved in your coat....while you ran another 5 miles...didn't SMELL good? Shocking.