Why I Hate Dogs

The past few Saturdays, I have been going for long runs. My habit has been to sleep in, eat breakfast, lay on the couch reading and napping until I am mentally prepared to run several miles and face the unpleasant weather the Palouse has been offering recently. Today, I got off the couch earlier than usual, inspired by the sun that has been appearing so infrequently these days. I drove the route first to make sure that it was accurate to Yahoo! Maps estimates and to place some water past the halfway point. I felt clever and did it Senegalese style: in a bag, so that when I was done drinking, I could tuck the empty bag in my pocket (not toss it on the side of the road, mind you) instead of having to carry a bulky bottle home. As I stepped out of the car, I noticed that it was a bit windy, quite windy, in fact, but I thought the sun would cancel out the unpleasantness of the gusts.

I was in a good mood and headed out the door with sunglasses. After about half an hour into the run, I realized that gray clouds were on the horizon behind me. Soon, I was wearing my sunglasses for no apparent reason. It was gray and incredibly windy. But the wind was at my back, and that made it great to run up the hills because I felt like I was being carried.

I got to about the halfway point of my run when a dog jumped out of the back of a pickup parked in someone’s driveway. It started barking and running at me. I stopped and started backing up slowly. It was still coming closer; clearly I was not wanted there. As I turned to continue walking away, it kept doing little charges. I was afraid it was going to tear into my calf. I stopped when I felt a safe distance away and considered my options: pick up a handful of rocks and try to make it past the dog or turn around and run back the same way I had come. I was thirsty and my water was tucked into a bush around the next corner. Plus I knew that the second half of the loop, while I was still running into the direction of the wind, was more treed and nestled behind hills that would hopefully protect me from some of the gusts. I couldn't just around the block because the country roads are spread far apart. The option of turning back meant more wind and going the same way I had come—I prefer loops, especially on long runs. While standing there, I was also hoping that someone might come out of the pickup or the house and yell, “Hey Fang, come back,” and apologetically declare that Fang just tends to be protective. But no one came, and the dog still didn’t want me there.

I turned around, feeling defeated. No water and lots of wind. I suddenly realized was going to be a miserable return trip. This was wind I could barely stand up against, let alone run into. I have since checked the forecast: winds at 30mph, with gusts up to 40. And it felt worse on the unprotected hills outside of town. It was like someone had abruptly changed the treadmill to the incline setting because even running down the hills wasn’t easy. And as I gaped for breath on this suddenly all uphill terrain, it felt like the wind was blowing the saliva out my mouth. I was mad that the dog had ruined my run. And I was cold and thirsty and wearing sunglasses now only to keep my contacts from drying out. I plodded back to Moscow, where I was hoping I could get a drink at Mountain View Park. Disappointingly, I discovered the water was turned off during the winter season, and then turned around to find Andrea’s dad, who ironically ordered Gracie to, “Go bite her!”

It was a gloomy day for a run, but I blame the mean yellow dog on Crumarine Loop for ruining it.