I rarely run with anyone other than my dog, Mack. When I am getting dressed to run he doesn’t wait by the door. He sticks with me as I brush my teeth, pull on a jacket, get a drink of water, up the stairs and back down, until he is out the door, assured of going with me.
Recently, on a morning run, I used a stick to lift a dead kangaroo rat off the trail. The white belly fur was vivid in the dawn, long back legs outstretched, tail curled into a U, the body stiff and frozen.
We found Emma in a circus tent filled with border collies and “lab mixes” at a pet adoption event 12 years ago. While dozens of dogs barked, smiled, wagged, and encouraged us to pick them...
A few weeks ago, before we moved to our house on the edge of the forest, and one of the last times I pulled into the Maston trailhead parking lot in the dark, I was not surprised to be the only car.
