Superhero Sunday: Sidekicks

Hello! It's me, Pedomemom again. I cannot believe I have to share this blog with someone who devoted an entire post to her family's candy issues. Oh, yes, I said sharing this blog...for now. I initially had my sights set on a complete takeover, but that lady does have some alert moments in between her sugar comas. She has agreed to let me tell my tales of life as a superhero ordinaire (that is just like extraordinaire, only slightly less pretentious) on the weekend. There is much to tell, as I am sure you can imagine. One does not just tie on a cape and become someone new, or maybe that is exactly what one does. Well, for our purposes here, let's assume the process is much more involved and requires a great deal of thought. Today's installment: Selecting a sidekick...

Considering my legendary superhero status, there was obviously to be some clamoring for me to select a sidekick. I did let my husband accompany on my walk one day, as a trial of sorts, since no capes were involved. He managed to keep up with my pace, but did so with his hands jammed in his jacket's pockets. It was unnatural and disturbing. He looked ridiculous, and I should know. I was dismayed at both the fact that he was gaining on me, and that he had not done any research into how to walk. I wonder if the neighbors thought I was being chased, by some sketchy guy, in the slowest pursuit ever. I hope that was not what they were thinking, not only because my husband does not deserve that reputation, but also because nobody offered any help. Suffice to say, the husband did not make the list of candidates. Plus I have a sneaking suspicion he might have tried to play it off like I was his sidekick. I do not think so. Being in charge of lightbulb changing hardly makes one the top dog.

Speaking of dogs, the next logical choice would have been he who walks with me every day, and most of the time twice. The Foz. The fact that he does not own a cape, and is too frightened to move when donning any sort of apparel, did not make him an outstanding applicant. However, what really did him in was the fact that he has short legs. This is not intended as an insult to his entire shih-tzu breed, just a plain fact. His eighteen inch stature does not enable him to keep pace with my, seemingly giant, sixty-four inch height. Even if he did manage to get his legs into a running rhythm, I am fairly certain he would not be able to keep it up for as long as thirty minutes. Also stacked against him is the fact that he has nowhere to clip a pedometer.

I did not actually have the heart to tell the Foz that he was not selected. We took a couple of promo shots of us together to humor him. 

(Insert fantastic background music here.)

As far as he is aware, we are just trying to think of a name for his character. In order to help foster his feelings of importance and inclusion, because let’s face it walking is pretty much the only gig he has, he plays the role of my cool down. I go for my w-a-l-k, and then take him for his afternoon walk when I get back. As far as he is concerned, he is the finest canine neighborhood watch patrol ever. He faces down terrifying dried leaves, the occasional plastic bag or kickball. He is stoic, or paralyzed with fear, when approached by potential villains. He makes sure there is no urine scent left uncovered by his own delicate blend.

Please note: We are not actually flying.

Despite being unable to fly on his own free will, being a small dog can have fabulous potential to be airborn. Just the other day, we were experiencing wind gusts over thirty-five miles per hour. My mind was blown away by the magnficent strength of the breeze. Meanwhile, short legs was almost literally blown away by the wind. I held tight to his leash in the event that he became a furry kite.

Sidekick quest=incomplete