Trail running with your dog can be hazardous to your health, but is more often a joy.
Wonderland Lake is a half-mile from our house on sidewalks. Look it up on a Boulder map if you think I made up the name ‘Wonderland Lake.’ The whole town should be called Wonderland, an apt one-word definition of Boulder, an essay for another time. This is about running with dogs
Just beyond the sidewalk, a dirt two-track leads to the main gravel trail around the lake. The two-track is dry, but ruts in the recent mud from a snowstorm have hardened to an uneven surface. Let me note that I have some experience with taking tumbles while running. It is simply the occasional downside of trail running.
Carly
My running companion is Carly, our 6-year-old Portuguese Water Dog who likes to join me. Her hair is tuxedo colored, mostly black, with white paws all around and a white bib. Very pretty. She has settled into being a fine dog, with the
exception of the occasional zoomies, where she runs through the house at full speed for a couple minutes. Today she is on a seven-foot leash clipped to her harness. The other end of the leash is a loop around my torso that allows me to run without holding her leash.
A young woman in well-formed black tights and her dog are coming up the trail. Carly tends to want to meet and greet every dog we encounter. I shorten her leash with
several wraps of the leash around my right hand so that she can’t create a scene. And of course I had to look up at the pretty, brown-haired woman in a maroon sweatshirt to make sure that she has a nice dog.
Damn! My right foot trips over a clump of hardened mud, my snake brain puts me into a tuck and roll to protect my head, and I am now on my back looking uphill at an astounded woman who, no doubt, thought she had just witnessed a moving cardiac arrest.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Anything hurt?”
“My pride.”
I end up with a slightly sore shoulder, elbow, and knee. I’ve done better tuck and rolls. Carly is unimpressed with my antics, although she keeps looking over her shoulder at me while we run around the lake. I suspect that she is concerned about my welfare, but there is the entertainment factor to be considered too, as Carly has a sense of humor.
Sam
Sam was our first pup after we moved to the mountains northwest of Boulder. Blue Eyes wanted to see her brother Randy’s new litter of pups. We agreed beforehand that we would not come home with a pup. That didn’t work out.
Sam was an Irish Wolfhound/English Sheepdog mix, born with the craziness that comes from mixing Irish and English blood. He loved both of us. But with other dogs or people, he was quick to take offense and respond in a negative manner. He was athletic, smart, and calculating in everything he did.
Sam was a grey fur ball who did well on a leash when we started trail running in the hills above Boulder. He’d occasionally swing around and bite the lead to let me know
we weren’t going fast enough, but generally he just padded along beside me as if we had been running together for years.
At two years, Sam was running off leash. He would trot in front of me on mountain roads and trails, occasionally looking over his shoulder to make sure I was still staying with him.
Because he weighed 80 pounds and was very much his own dog, he had little fear of anything that moved. And while he had developed a healthy respect for cars and trucks, he’d just walk right up to other mountain people or dogs and greet them—or not—depending on his mood.