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I went out solo this AM to do my six mile tempo run, and all seemed right with the world. It was a gorgeous Friday morning with a really decent temperature, and the wild flowers and birds and deer that I saw all made me appreciate nature in a way that I rarely do. Then, of course, all hell broke loose. So screw nature, people, because it’s not just fuzzy bunnies and harmless Bambis out there- there are killers on the road. This particular killer answers to the name “Dakota” and he is a mean ass husky. Though we pass him daily, this is the first time I’ve seen him loose from his chain and roaming free. He growled and barked and menaced me for several minutes while I did what I do best – whined plaintively. Finally his owner (heretofore referred to as “Irresponsible Asswipe”) came out and hollered not at the dog but at ME, Pathetic Cowering Runner.
Irresponsible Asswipe: “He ain’t gonna hurt ya. He’s a baby – only four months old! He just wants to say “hello” “.
Interesting- when MY babies were four months old, they never barked and growled only when the Gerber sweet potatoes weren’t being shoveled in fast enough to suit them. The most dangerous thing they ever did was to occasionally squirm during changing time in such a way that I pricked my finger with their diaper pin. This dude’s “baby” wants to chew off large pieces of me, and then shit me back out. Baby, my aching ass.
Irresponsible Asswipe made several very feeble attempts to call back the dog, and eventually, when I was nanoseconds away from becoming completely hysterical with fear, he grabbed Demon Dog’s collar and dragged him home.
My intense fear of the entire canine family (’cause it’s not just BIG dogs I fear, but ALL dogs. Sometimes even slightly overweight cats will set me off if they look at me kind of funny.) is seriously affecting my running. A stellar 5-mile loop, my previous favorite, is now dead to me because of a similar dog related trauma. Although the ever brave M. and J. do sometimes coax me into doing this route with them, it is one that I would NEVER dare to attempt alone. And when I run it with them, a certain procedure and ritual must be followed:
First, M. and J. must be prepared with jog bras packed full of Pupperoni. (Note that neither J. nor M. own a dog and that this canine snack was purchased by M. with the sole purpose of bribing mean dogs into eating IT, rather than US.)
Next, M. and J. must rearrange our typical running order so that I am securely placed in the middle of them. In other words, we make a sandwich, and I am the chickenshit filling to their whole wheat bread.
Finally, M. and J. must mutter kind words in soothing voices, things like “It’s OK. I don’t see him at all. Nope! No mean dogs here!” whilst pretending to not be completely disgusted by my incredible display of cowardice.
Tomorrow I will NOT have to face my fears. We will run the (dog-free) Zombie 5K, as it is my firm belief that the typical zombie is downright warm and fuzzy compared to the canines of Frostburgg.
