On Sunday we drove down to Wollongong RSPCA for the start of the Walk-Your-Dog-A-Thon (these a-thon names are getting worse and worse aren't they? it's similar to the 50's and omat, as in Laundromat, which spread like the Ebola virus to every corner of American business). Ninja had been in training for weeks : brisk walks on the lead followed by the standard anarchical runs chasing random smells whilst his back legs went in directions that God did not intend. He was, therefore, in the peak of physical and mental condition and we had a good chance for gold, gold, gold. Unfortunately, as we signed in, Ninja went all nervous. Other contestants were smelling his bum without a snarl being raised and, as he looked towards the RSPCA shelter, his nerve broke and he turned to me, seemingly  with a tear in his eye, and said (I'm only imagining this) "No, No, no Phil. Don't make me go back there - I hated it". I calmed him as best I could and, after we started the 7 kilometres, he calmed down but never got back that winning confidence. Near half way he flagged out totally and, even after a rest, I had to carry him for a tiny bit until he got back the strength in his little legs. At the end he seemed like he could do it again and in the afternoon he was frollicking in the backyard as Annette did some gardening. This morning we found a tick in his underarm area : the secound in a week. That must have been the cause of his lower than expected performance. Poor chappy.