It was a wet, miserable morning for a long run today. I ran 8 miles but not without company. Two miles into the run I passed a farmhouse, and this white dog, ran out to meet me, and next thing I know he's running by my side. I said, "go home boy this is a 8 mile hilly run in the rain, and I have 6 miles to go, and worst of the hills still lie ahead." But he would have none of it. He ran right with me at the heel or slightly in front, glancing to make sure I was still there on occassion. He looked to be in good shape, but running 6 miles when you're not trained for it is hard, no matter what speicies you are, and his 4 legs don't work as good for long distance as my 2. I figured he would drop out after a mile or 2 and return home, but no sir. He would stop to smell etc, and then run back up to me, expending much more energy then he needed. By mile 6 he was dropping off the 9 min mile pace I was on. Unable to keep up, I looked behind to find him hundred yards back, struggling to keep me in sight, his once fluid trot had been reduced to a walk/shuffle on the rolling hills, as fatigue wore on his spindly legs. I stopped a couple of times, allowing him to catch up, and to give words of encouragement.
I admired his heart and determination. He had no idea how far the run was going, for all he knew it could be 1 more mile or 10, but he decided however how far it was, he was all in. And would run till exhaustion before letting down his new friend.
I had no idea what his name was, or even if he was male. Had no idea exactly which farm house was his, and not a clue of what to do with him when I got back to the car. "I'll figure that out when the time comes," was my thought as we made our way through the countryside in a steady rain. Only the sound of my squishing wet shoes, and his panting for company.
With a mile and half to go, I knew the steepest hill was still ahead, but I didn't tell him. I slowed to a jog to allow him to gather himself, and as we descended the long hill and bottomed out, the inevitable uphill side came into view. He staggered at the sight of it. This hill can be intimidating even for a trained runner. But I knew once at the top, the parking lot would come into view and quarter mile later we're done. I said, "c'mon boy almost there," and picked up the pace. He fed of my words of praise and encouragement, and mustered up whatever inner strength he had left for the final push. I could hear his labored breathing and panting as we ran up the hill. We crested the top, and took off in a sprint for the finish. At the end he was breathing 100 times a minute, his tongue hanging, but he was jumping up tag wagging, as if he was proud of his accomplishment. I used my squirt bottle and shut him some gatorade, and he barked in approval. He sat with me on the church steps and rested while we contemplated our next move, each of us wet as drowned rats, but no matter, the run was over, and I hit my GPS enabled runner's watch, locking the time and distance at 8.52 miles.
I had no idea what his name was, or even if he was male. Had no idea exactly which farm house was his, and not a clue of what to do with him when I got back to the car. "I'll figure that out when the time comes," was my thought as we made our way through the countryside in a steady rain. Only the sound of my squishing wet shoes, and his panting for company.
With a mile and half to go, I knew the steepest hill was still ahead, but I didn't tell him. I slowed to a jog to allow him to gather himself, and as we descended the long hill and bottomed out, the inevitable uphill side came into view. He staggered at the sight of it. This hill can be intimidating even for a trained runner. But I knew once at the top, the parking lot would come into view and quarter mile later we're done. I said, "c'mon boy almost there," and picked up the pace. He fed of my words of praise and encouragement, and mustered up whatever inner strength he had left for the final push. I could hear his labored breathing and panting as we ran up the hill. We crested the top, and took off in a sprint for the finish. At the end he was breathing 100 times a minute, his tongue hanging, but he was jumping up tag wagging, as if he was proud of his accomplishment. I used my squirt bottle and shut him some gatorade, and he barked in approval. He sat with me on the church steps and rested while we contemplated our next move, each of us wet as drowned rats, but no matter, the run was over, and I hit my GPS enabled runner's watch, locking the time and distance at 8.52 miles.
We were several miles from his house, so I placed him in the back seat to return him to his home. I wasn't sure which farm house was his, so I just let him out in the vicinty, confident he'd do the rest. He was reluctant to leave the car, and I had to tug his collar, he wanted to go with me, but I couldn't do that, because he had a family that would surely miss him, even if they might be boring. I finally got him out of the car, and got back in driving off, but I could see him in my mirror running behind me. Despite just running 6 miles, he still had something left to try and stay with his new friend. Finally he gave up and I went out of sight. Knowing dogs, I bet he comes to the road every morning now to look for the man that took him running that day. Sadly, I only get out on that course about once a month, but I'll be sure to look for him.
