Sorry I didn’t get a blog posted yesterday. I ran out of time. Because…drumroll, please…I had actual work to do. At work. And stuff. I’m working on the closeout report for the shelter project. I’ve got a few key pieces left to fill in, then I’ll pass it on for my boss to finalize. I can’t believe it! (insert high-pitched squeal here).
I ran just as the sky started to lighten here this morning. I saw the sky turn peach with smudgy, charcoal gray clouds floating on the eastern perimeter.
I like animals. I do. I see dogs and cats almost every time I run outside. Cats, at least, have the foresight to dash away when they see me pounding along. Cats rarely want to socialize in the early morning light. One calico cat in my neighborhood likes to perch on the outside air vent on the front porch. Haughty as a furry queen, she peers down on me as I pass by her house. I’m the ridiculous human, sweating out my angst to TFK. Other felines run under cars or bushes as I approach. They peek out at me, safe under cover, as I continue on. See, these cats have no need for either confrontation or affirmation. They know they exist and don’t need to acknowledge my presence one way or the other. I could be bellybutton lint for all they care.
But dogs can be iffy. Dogs get territorial. They want to protect their people. They tend to announce my presence, with vim and vigor. I wince at the loud barking, sure their owner suddenly roused from a good dream feels a strong urge to kick me into the middle of next week. I don’t make eye contact with the cacophonous canine because that implies challenge.
“Good doggie, good doggie,” I chant under my breath as I keep moving.
“Ruff! Ruff RUFF ruff!” bellows the baritone behemoth. I jump at the decibel level. And stay out!
I don’t stop.
Most of the time, dogs appear in fenced yards, galloping up to give me the what-for. Some pups get early walkies and yank on the end of their leashes when they see me. Today, two dogs, both wearing safety cone collars, chased me along the border of their chain link universe. I didn’t acknowledge them. Mostly because I couldn’t spare the air. Later, a different enormous dog, leashed and a very hairy brown, lunged at me. His owner, a trim man in his 50s, leaned all his body weight on the leather strap to steer the Muppet away from me.
But wait! That dog could be useful. He could, upon proper treatment, be turned into this:
Now you know.