c'mon dog

I have been taking Luke on runs with me, and usually this involves taking him off-leash, as many people have their dogs in the park, and it's best if both dogs are off-leash. otherwise, dogs tend to get protective of their owners and go all alpha-dog on you. so the park is a dog park, sort of by default. also a human park, with birdies and other creatures.

when I'm running Luke will run ahead, I'll pass him as he sniffs some unbelievably interesting mound of grass, and then he'll sprint to catch up, only stopping again to investigate small burrow, tree stump, fallen branch, or similar. repeat. occasionally the thing--pile of leaves--becomes too interesting, and tearing him away involves me calling to him. he does not come when called. this we know. he is much like a cat in this way. so I end up shouting: Luke! c'mon Luke! let's go! Luke! and then, in my whitey-mcwhite impersonation of blackness, I find myself shouting with a tone of slight annoyance in my voice: c'mon, dawg!

Wales: perhaps the only space on earth where, for uttering these words, I am not immediately transformed into a puddle of embarrassed whitey goo.