Who Told Our Generation of Women that ZOOMIES were a Good Thing?

When my dog was a puppy, if he was in the kennel too long, he would get a case of what my dog breading sister called “the ZOOMIES.”

One minute he was sitting calmly at my side letting me rub his belly, and the next he turned into a canine lunatic.

The bottom floor of my home was converted into a race track, and he would sprint in repetitive circles, letting nothing slow his pace,  leaping up and over the couches to continue on his course.

We learned there was nothing stopping him when he got like this, and the best thing we could do was get out of his way and wait for him to exhaust himself.

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