Tired Old Dog
Sunday afternoon. I was just sitting down with a snack after splitting and stacking a truckload of firewood. My wife blusters through the door. I feel like I have to explain that I have just sat down after a productive day of chores.
She looks at the dog and says “What did you do to him?”
Buddy the old wonder dog, my 10 year old border collie is curled up into a tight ball on the couch. He lifts one eyelid to peer groggily at my wife’s intrusion. He is curled up in a ball so compact that I am jealous at his ability to sleep so deeply.
Wish I could curl up in a ball.
I did nothing to him. He went with me to my running club’s brunch run and had a wonderful time doing what he loves to do, what we love to do and now he was sleeping it off. I wish I could come home from a morning run and curl up on the couch in a tight warm ball for the next 4-6 hours.
…
My running club is having a renaissance period. Over the years membership and participation has waxed and waned and we are now in one of those vibrant periods. We have new members with new energy and we had a great turn out for this brunch run on Sunday.
The basic formula is that we all converge on someone’s house, bring food and family and go for a run followed by a brunch. I bring my family, that is to say, my running partner, my dog.
Buddy and I had missed a memo on time change and ended up arriving an hour early. I knew right away my miscalculation and instead of intruding on an unprepared host we pulled down the boat launch to wait.
It is my habit to spend these unexpected windfalls of time either writing or reading. I keep a few books of short stories in my car for just this purpose.
I sat on the cold cement of the ramp, leaned against my car and let Buddy wander about the pond edge as I considered an O. Henry Prize story. The first cold snap of fall had brought temperatures in the low 30’s, just about freezing, but the low winter sun brought warmth, as I sat and read and Buddy sniffed about in the shallows and the brush by the pond.
The silence was occasionally broken by the one or two lone and hopeful fishermen out in their small crafts looking for trout. This pond is a natural, glacial pond that is quite deep and runs cold enough for that native species year round.
Peaceful.
…
Finally the hour turned and we joined the rest to start the run. We sort ourselves into different groups based on pace and distance. On this morning we would be treated to a hash run into the trails. This is where a couple of runners, the ‘hares’ run ahead and mark a path to follow with flour. The hares use subterfuge and the game is to try to catch them. We gave the ‘hares’ a five minute head start.
It was quite chilly and some of the kids and others began to run circles around the house to warm up as we waited. I unclipped Buddy from his leash and let him go with them.
Even at 10 years old, Buddy runs with the abandon and joy of a child. He dashed back and forth and around the crowd and he was more than running. He was laughing. He was dancing. Such is his joy to be out on a cold fall morning with a pack of humans just doing the happy dance of running.
There he was, black and white furry happiness, prancing, dancing and gamboling about. No one could deny this dog this dance of love.
We set off into the trails to catch the hares. I had been planning on 5-6 miles of easy trail running but instead the hash turned into a hilly interval workout as we chased false trails and pushed on. Buddy was always out front somewhere pacing the leaders.
I did my best to struggle along at a high heart rate. It reminded me of those old cross country races in high school with the uneven terrain and technical footing. I had squeezed in a 2 hour mountain bike ride the day before and was a little worried about my injury flaring up.
We finally caught the hares about 2 and ½ miles in when they missed a turn. The speedsters who caught them now became the hares. We gave them a head start and took off again.
Now we were into the power line trails. These held some very steep ups and downs that spread the pack out and reduced me to power-walking at times.
As I struggled along I’d crest a hill and see Buddy in waiting in the trail at the top of a ridge bright eyed and curious with an empathic and concerned look as if to say “You ok old-timer?” He would come back to check on me this way every few minutes. I would thank him for his concern and we would race on down the trail.
We finally finished up back at the host house near the boat ramp. I took off my shoes and socks, rolled up my tights and waded into the 40 degree water. Buddy jumped in too and swam in lazy circles taking an impromptu ice bath in the morning sun.
And as my wife gives me a dressing down for torturing the dog I think, “What I did to him?” She does not know what joy there is to careen down rocky trails in a joyous riot of dance.
She does not know the many peaceful trails. The many friendly miles of forest. She does not know what it is like to wade ankle deep in the cold mud, to flush the wild pheasant and chase the bounding deer.
Yeah, what did I do to HIM!