Farley here.

Well I’m in Florida, and it’s hot.

Early this morning I hear my humans talk about going for a run. They don’t think I’ve been getting enough exercise lately. Well, whose fault is that I ask you? And who wants to exercise in  this heat?

I’m not the kind of dog who likes to get up early, but oh, oh! I see Kristina putting on her running gear. It’s not even seven yet. Is she crazy?

She crawls under the salon table and pulls my legs. I make my body go all floppy so she can’t get ahold of me.

“Let me sleep,” I whine.

“Come on, lazy bones,” she says.

“Lazy,” I bark quietly. “I’m not lazy. Do you see where I am?” I wag my tail making it thump the air conditioning vent. I’m trying to give her the hint I want to stay near the cold air, but she’s having none of it. She takes hold of my two front paws and slides me across the floor. Now she thinks I’m a mop.

I may want to stay in the comfort of my air-conditioned salon, but it’s not going to happen. I give in and follow her out the door.

Now, I know you’re all feeling sorry for me and my tough life, but don’t worry.

We run along a road and at the end of the road we find a beach on the Atlantic ocean.

There’s a sign, which usually means no dogs allowed, but I pull Kristina to it, and bark, “Dogs allowed. Must be leashed. Do you see? Do you see? Let’s go.” Flagler county is dog friendly. This place is great.

I want to hit the surf. I spring forward, dragging Kristina, and get my paws in the ocean for the first time this season.

If I wasn’t a dog, I would be laughing out loud. That lol for you humans. It feels unbelievably good to run in the surf.

Woof woof.