This is Rusty. As if you all don’t know who he is by now.
I love him.
He’s been my running partner since I started running, like, a year and a half ago.
And this dog puts each and everyone one of us to shame. Luke and I have clocked him doing a four minute mile (while pulling Luke on a bike). And after running 15 miles (while I was basically dying) Rusty stood at the door, harness and leash still on, bouncing and ready to keep going.
The only thing this dog loves more than running is Frisbee.
He’s been with me on good runs and bad runs. Always
pushing pulling me forward. Occasionally he’ll slow down enough to run by my side, and nuzzle my hand - like he’s checking on me to see how I’m doing. Then he takes off again and propels us forward.
I think about all the miles I’ve logged. He’s logged just as many - only going faster and pushing harder.
If it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have started running. And if it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn’t have kept running.
I’m genuinely heart broken that he won’t be at my race with me. This dog deserves a medal, too.