Sticks

It's confession time.

I have a habit that I know my readers should not do at home.

I am fully aware of the dangers involved in what I do but engage in the activity despite the risks.

As I tell you what it is, I hope you will still accept me unconditionally as your friend.

I...run...with...sticks.

And, not just any sticks...sharp ones.

It is one of my greatest passions.

Nothing is more thrilling than when my people fling open the back door allowing me to experience the pure freedom of grass running. I will circle the entire perimeter with Olympic sprinter intensity.

Nothing stops me.

"Go, Mac, Go!" rings in my flapping ears as I am cheered on enthusiastically.

When I am running, nothings stops me...nothing...except...a stick.

A canopy of oak branches covers the entire backyard; it's Sticks "R" Us every day of the year. There is always a nice pointy one free for the grabbing. I have no preference, small and sharp or large and chunky, all are fun. I have also been known to run with entire branches!

Sometimes people will be up for a game of Stick Throwing.
Sometimes I will lay quietly in the cool grass chewing diligently.
Other times, I merely run for fun, stick in mouth.

That's my confession.

I have revealed the real me.

Allow Me to Introduce Myself

MacKenzie...my real name. You'll never hear it spoken except at the doctor's office. My man has this thing for the Beatles, so when naming me, the challenge was to extract my future name from a Beatles song. There was already a black cocker spaniel in the house named "Pepper".

"MacKenzie" was discovered in "Eleanor Rigby"...Father MacKenzie. Even though I'm a female, and we don't even know if it's spelled the same...MacKenzie was the choice. But, like I said before, the doctor's office is the only place you'll hear it.

Mac...or Mackie...that's what I wait to hear.

Just say the word, and I will come running. A ride in the car to the bank? I'm in. A quick game of ball? I'm all over that one. A dash outside for a potty break? Good excuse to run in circles, chase a few birds, and see what's going down in the 'hood.

I'm a Labradoodle. In some circles, that's posh. If the President's girls select a Labradoodle for their new White House pet, Labradoodle awareness will be everywhere! But, I'm going to be honest here, I'm a G1 Labradoodle...translation: a half-breed mutt. My mom was a golden Lab. My Dad was a standard Poodle. There you have it. I came from a puppy farm which I'm not at all proud to admit.

My people searched the want ads for Labradoodles which led them to my "farm". My mama was shocked to realize the conditions under which I was being raised. To this day she will hug me a little bit tighter when thinking about that day.

It was simply a "God thing" that brought me and my family together.

And we have been happy ever since!