Poor Rudy

The other day I was house sitting for a friend, he asked that I run their dog just once. So come Wednesday, I look for the leash I finally find it buried under a pile of shoes, which would've been a clear indication of the amount of exercise Rudy normally gets. The moment Rudy sees the leash in my hand he gets super juiced, running circles, tail wagging ready to roll. I put the leash on and we go, about half a mile to the lake, around the 3.3 mile circumference and back. He does fine, he sounds a little winded but so am I. I was going slow too so the fastest Rudy had to go was no better than a trot. We get home, the moment we step in he collapses on the floor, tongue out, breath fast and heavy, thick saliva frothing at his mouth. I fill his bowl and tell him to "come, get water." He attempts to get up, is successful for a few steps then falls again, gives up and lies there, beat. I have to leave for a bit so I go. When I get back I see soggy dog food in a huge puddle of water in the middle of the living room floor. Rudy puked! Hilarious, a dog so out of shape that he puked. It's especially funny because I could relate. In the letter I leave them; I blame his mom and dad for cultivating a lifestyle of laziness. Poor Rudy, I'll take you out every time I house sit.