Get up every thirty minutes or your stuff will be destroyed
Lily, AKA Beastmode, is a terrible dog. She chews everything, and I don’t mean just shoes. She chews books, furniture, stairs — she has literally eaten half a chair, converting it into a set of stools. Sometimes, out of nowhere, she will pointedly and maliciously piss the bed. I love her, but I cannot deny, this is a terrible dog.
She is, however, an excellent fitness app. Here’s how.
High-Intensity Interval Training is a set of short, intense exercises. You can do them with bodyweight, or — at an advanced level — with a Beagle and a miniature Komodo Dragon.
A thalagoya is a land monitor. They look a lot like Komodo’s except smaller and not very dangerous. I’ve heard they’re even edible, but haven’t tried this. Sometimes a baby one will fall into our garden and the dog will chase it around. Then I have to chase both of them, trying to get a hand on the dog while avoiding the lizard’s whipping tail. It’s quite a workout.
To do this at a low intensity I just shag tennis balls at her, but if you really want to step it up, get a dog and its optional accessory, a lizard.
The final, most advanced level, is if a cat falls into the garden. Then I’m chasing two swirling balls of flesh, one of which has claws and jumps at face height.
Get Up And Move
Like any good app, the dog will often remind me to get up and move. She does this by chewing something, or stealing an object and running, or jumping on a child. Then I either have to chase her around the garden or get up and play with her until she tires herself out.
It’s honestly a really annoying and persistent reminder. I have to actively get up and move or there will be material consequences. Half of the time she’s stolen something important and I have to run around flinging stuff at her like a hunter-gatherer, twisting and turning until she tires out and I can pounce. I used to get mad at this but now I just treat it as an impromptu workout. Imagine a fitness app that periodically stole and destroyed your stuff unless you got up and moved. That’s a Beagle.
I won’t walk down the street on my own because it’s boring and I have a phone. For Lily, however, nosing through the neighborhood shits is like scrolling through Twitter. I guess we’re not that different.
At least once a day she drags me down the street, reading the Turdly Times that the neighborhood dogs have left out. God forbid we see one of these dogs, then she’s jumping to go play and I have to social distance by carrying a wriggling set of weights all the way home.
If I really want to add resistance I bring my kids. Then they’re pulling in three different directions, all vectors for disaster. It’s quite a mental and physical workout.
Getting Up Again
Did I mention getting up? Because it’s constant. I always have to keep an eye on this dog or she’ll steal something or knock over a child. Even if she’s not up to some havoc I have to still get up often and check. With children and dogs, silence is often more dangerous than noise.
Instead of an app beeping to move every thirty minutes I have the constant fear of her burying some food in the couch which will attract ass-biting ants. Or taking a sneaky piss somewhere that I then have to sniff out with my atrophied human nose. I don’t need a reminder because I’m deeply conditioned by horror and fear. Every thirty minutes I get up to check on this accursed dog.
There’s no app that will destroy your home if you don’t get up every thirty minutes, but this dog will. That’s motivation.
As mentioned, this is a terrible dog. I love her but she’s legitimately the worst. We’re trying to train her but I suspect that we’re terrible humans as well. I’ve recently just given up on trying to make her chill and have tried to unchill myself. There’s no way she’s going to get into our lifestyle of — from a dog’s perspective — lying around and staring at light bulbs, so I’ve just gotten into hers.
Running around, getting up and down, whatever it takes. She’s a terrible dog but an excellent fitness app and — if you finally do manage to tire her out — quite cute.