Today had one of those poetic moments that rise up to greet everyone who has put in enough time on the road or trail. Mine came in the form of a very small dog -- some kind of terrier no bigger than a loaf of bread.
About halfway through my long run and listening to the podcast of NPR's All Song's Considered top 25 show for 2008, I became taken by the song Furr by the alt-folk Portland band Blitzen Trapper. The tune's about a young man becoming part of a wolf pack, and as the lyrics developed,
I heard my mother shouting through the fogIt turned out to be the howling of a dog,Or a wolf to be exact.The sound sent shivers down my back,But I was drawn into the packAnd before long,They allowed me to join in and sing their songSo from the cliffs and highest hillYeah, we would gladly get our fillHowling endless and shrilly at the dawn,
I looked down at my feet, and as if from the ethers, there appeared a small, light colored dog running alongside me on the snowy path. The quirkiness of the dog, combined with the lyrics so rich in my head, made for quite a confluence that seemed to reach beyond the simple: "stray dog tails runner."
We ran together for a few miles, with him never straying more than a few feet from my side; then as quickly as he came, he disappeared.
My wife, knowing my propensity for super-bonks and their related loss of mental focus, questioned whether there really was a dog at all. All I could say was "of course there was" while wondering quietly in my mind if in fact that were true.