I originally posted this elsewhere, a “test blog” if you will, on January 19, 2018.
We were out the other day in an interlude between snows. Jessie, uncharacteristically, wanted to go in the direction opposite her usually preferred walking route. She nosed around the town hall for a bit before deciding to head home, or maybe resume her normal path. You can’t be too sure with Jessie. As is usual, I was closely monitoring her walking. Leg movement, paw placement, confidence in stride all contributing to my overall assessment of where she stood on this outing’s mobility rating. With her near 13 years of age, and me approaching 64, ease of movement is a daily issue. I thought she was probably right at “average”. A little stiff-legged, with normal rear paw scuffing and the occasional scrape. She had her rear boots on, so the scraping was not audibly noticeable. I have to see it, and I did see it every so often.
It was as we were veering toward a homeward path that first I saw, and then Jessie, the big UPS truck cross our path, turning and heading away from us. Jessie’s head snapped up in recognition, one of her chief enemies clearly in sight, and running away. This was followed by a low, quiet growl, and then she launched herself in pursuit. Her initial steps were unsteady, but quick. It was all I could do to keep up. I kept thinking that maybe I should make an effort to calm her down, slow her pace. Could this level of activity lead to injury, or a setback? All the while I was increasing my own pace, allowing her to gain momentum. And then she and I were running. The run of two old beings, to be sure, but there was something reminiscent of our more youthful walks and runs in days gone by. She can still run. We can still run! And why shouldn’t we?