I live with a wookie. For real. He's big, black, hairy, clumsy and sometimes stinky, and in those early mornings hours when I can barely peel my eyes open to take on the day, let alone a run, he's there to kick my butt into gear.

Now this dog is no running dog, far from it. He's a mountain dog, literally. A Bernese Mountain Dog, to be exact, but he loves to run. So when morning breaks and this boy needs to pee and he has this vague memory of how things evolved into a high energy run yesterday morning, how can I refuse those massive, swatting paws at my bedside?

We get ready. Me, dragging on clothes and stumbling into shoes. Him, alert, watching my every move, frozen in time, waiting for those words - oh, please, please say those words - "Let's Go!", I whisper.

Yes!

We're off. Him, smiling from ear to ear, trotting by my side, keeping my pace honest. Me, happy I have a wookie to get me out of bed and into the morning to enjoy a fresh, quiet run with my mutt, feeling better about my day already.