“The perfect running partner” can take various forms
depending on the runner. Some of
us prefer running in groups with conversations to distract us, others of us may
have that one person we see every other day at 6AM for accountability and
support, and a few of us cherish our miles when they go by in solitude. Personally, I’ve typically favored that
last one. I say “typically”
because that has been the case up until I met these guys.
Meet Roux and Inka & Bandit—my loveable, excitable, indefatigable
running buddies. They aren’t my dogs, but I’ve got some awesome friends who are
under the impression that me running their dogs is some kind of favor to them… but let’s be honest, I’m clearly
the one getting the good end of the deal.
As I was out running with Roux the other day and
contemplating whether there was any greater joy in life than running trails
with this guy (there isn’t), I considered what exactly it was for me that made
running with my canine pals unfailingly fun. That’s when I stumbled upon a short
list: things our dogs do on trail runs that
would be extremely weird if humans did them.
1. Mark territory:
The number of times a dog can pee in the span of a 5-mile run is nothing short
of impressive. Roux always sets up
a perimeter the moment he gets out of the car while I tie my shoes: “Hold up, I need to make sure everyone knows
this area is mine.” Fifty yards down the trail: “Hey, this is also mine.” Another 100 yards: “Mine.” Backtrack to
the first tree: “I think I already peed
here, but I’m going to go ahead and pee again just to make sure. Wait, is that
a bush over there? Ya, that’s mine too.”
When a dog does it, I can’t help but chuckle as they proudly
claim their land. It’s kind of endearing.
Not so much with a human running partner. If that happened, I wouldn’t know whether to call the police
or recommend seeing a urinary specialist.
2. An inclination toward woodland critters: Or in the case of Inka &
Bandit, we’ll call it a very strong passion for the tradition of hunting. Squirrels
and chipmunks are among the top “distraction” (in Inka’s mind, known
collectively as “the enemy”). But say you’re running trails with your human
friend—we’ll call him Steve—and you’re talking about something kind of serious,
maybe about work or family or something, and all of a sudden Steve’s just gone.
And you’re calling his name and you know he hears you but Steve just keeps
running full tilt through the brush, until he gets to a tree and sits at the
base of it, yelling threats up at the squirrel. And you spend 5 minutes coaxing Steve back to the trail with
some food and finally you get back to your conversation until another squirrel
runs across the trail and there goes Steve again. C’mon, Steve.
3. Run circles around you: The seemingly boundless energy of a dog
never ceases to amaze me…. How they can turn a 5-mile run into 10 by
zig-zagging on and off trail and be ready for more is beyond me, but it is
truly a hoot to watch. They’ll sprint past at full clip and then make a sharp
turn-off to sniff something (or, more likely, pee on something). I keep on my
leisurely pace and run past, and then aparently I’ll get too far ahead (hardly
ever more than fifty yards) because they break into a full gallop after me,
over logs and bushes and rocks, squeezing by on the trail until getting too far
ahead again and then sprinting back.
I don’t think anything depicts pure joy better than a dog at
full sprint on a trail: ears back, tongue out, eyes wide, and paws kicking up
dirt. It leaves me with a
permagrin while I run. But for some reason, our friend Steve running circles
around me, jumping up and down, is less “I love life and this is so much fun”
and more “Look how easy this is for me… can’t you go any faster?”
I’d be annoyed out of my mind… and probably thinking of some
very unkind things to call Steve.
4. Disappear off-trail for a few minutes: And return, undoubtedly doing so with a
big smile on his face. The kind of
smile that evokes one question: what small animal carcass did you just find and
proceed to roll in? A quick dip in
the creek and a bath after the run and I’m back to snuggling the pups. Not sure if I’d ever look at Steve the
same way after an incident like that.
5. Socializing: I don’t think our friend
Steve would be received well in the running community if he sniffed every butt
that ran by. Just sayin’.
For
me, nothing quite beats following a wagging tail down the trail. I’ve logged a fair
number of miles with Roux and Inka & Bandit, and they’ve pushed me through
some running ruts. Their exuberance is
contagious, and a run with them will always leave me smiling.
