Okay, so Runner's World and The Running Room have also given me lots of good advice over the years. But as I struggle with my running life -- to race or not to race, how to keep things moderate and avoid injuries -- I'm finding Foster, my new 1-year-old collie, is providing a lot of answers.
Firstly, it's a great way to channel angst. I've started to notice an increasing irritability with my partner (we live in a small apartment and he is, for all his strengths, a slob). It seems I always want to control where he puts things like underwear and dirt (he's in horticulture so there's a lot of soil around the house). While Foster doesn't care about tidiness, he does like to play with his Kong, and when he doesn't get his play time he gets jittery and whiney.
As I write this, after a snowy run by The Parkway, I'm feeling laissez faire and Foster is asleep by the door. Relief for all.
Secondly, well, you can't race with a dog or even (really) bring him out to watch. And I'm done with stress for the day. So there!
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dog. Show all posts
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Keeping a pet
And he gave you a german shepherd to walk
With a collar of leather and nails
And he never once made you explain or talk
About all of the little details
--'Master Song,' Leonard Cohen
I've been thinking a lot about pets these days.
I suppose it's mostly because it's puppy season; everyone everywhere seems to have small canines with extra skin and too-big paws. I melt at the sight of them and crane my neck as I pass dog parks. I've always been a dog person and even took out all the dog books when I could first read, memorizing breed names and planning my litter.
But now, after years of deciding it wasn't the right time -- I was moving or wanted to, I didn't know where I'd be living for the next fifteen years -- I'm not so sure about the role dogs will play in my life. I'm not sure I want to 'keep' a pet, and I'm not sure dogs are meant to be kept.
In Hawaii, things were different when it came to dogs and cats. They hung about, you put food out, they offered affection, you accepted. It seemed a mutually beneficial relationship, with each party able to walk away from the set-up at any given point.
In Ottawa, 'owners' (or 'caregivers' as local retailer Posh Nosh refers to them) invest thousands to purchase and maintain a pet -- even more on the emotional level, as pets come to serve as surrogate children and life partners.
Is this fair to the beasts?
Did they ask for this kind of co-dependent relationship?
I suppose one could argue that children, too, don't 'ask' to be born. But that seems a bit more natural, like part of maintaining a species.
But when I try to see my sister, who has a 2-year-old husky, or my friends who just adopted a bulldog, as parents involved in a natural course of events, something inside of me cringes. It's similar to my aversion to the argument that 'we might as well eat cows -- there are too many of them. What would cows do if we didn't eat them?'
And who would take care of pure bred dogs if not wealthy westerners?
I believe the mutts at the pound may be a different story -- though with this week's scathing article by Randall Denley at the Ottawa Citizen (The humane society's big secret: euthanasia), I really don't know if I can trust our local humane society.
In then end, as I walk with my sister's pooch and watch her, nose in the air, searching out scents and enjoying this brief, elated hour of partial-freedom (huskies are a breed that cut'n'run, making off-leash sessions for city-dwellers few and far between), I wonder who is getting the most out of this relationship. I imagine how I would feel as a kept woman; I feel uneasy about the extra attention I get with a dog; and I feel like I owe her something.
With a collar of leather and nails
And he never once made you explain or talk
About all of the little details
--'Master Song,' Leonard Cohen
I've been thinking a lot about pets these days.
I suppose it's mostly because it's puppy season; everyone everywhere seems to have small canines with extra skin and too-big paws. I melt at the sight of them and crane my neck as I pass dog parks. I've always been a dog person and even took out all the dog books when I could first read, memorizing breed names and planning my litter.
But now, after years of deciding it wasn't the right time -- I was moving or wanted to, I didn't know where I'd be living for the next fifteen years -- I'm not so sure about the role dogs will play in my life. I'm not sure I want to 'keep' a pet, and I'm not sure dogs are meant to be kept.
In Hawaii, things were different when it came to dogs and cats. They hung about, you put food out, they offered affection, you accepted. It seemed a mutually beneficial relationship, with each party able to walk away from the set-up at any given point.
In Ottawa, 'owners' (or 'caregivers' as local retailer Posh Nosh refers to them) invest thousands to purchase and maintain a pet -- even more on the emotional level, as pets come to serve as surrogate children and life partners.
Is this fair to the beasts?
Did they ask for this kind of co-dependent relationship?
I suppose one could argue that children, too, don't 'ask' to be born. But that seems a bit more natural, like part of maintaining a species.
But when I try to see my sister, who has a 2-year-old husky, or my friends who just adopted a bulldog, as parents involved in a natural course of events, something inside of me cringes. It's similar to my aversion to the argument that 'we might as well eat cows -- there are too many of them. What would cows do if we didn't eat them?'
And who would take care of pure bred dogs if not wealthy westerners?
I believe the mutts at the pound may be a different story -- though with this week's scathing article by Randall Denley at the Ottawa Citizen (The humane society's big secret: euthanasia), I really don't know if I can trust our local humane society.
In then end, as I walk with my sister's pooch and watch her, nose in the air, searching out scents and enjoying this brief, elated hour of partial-freedom (huskies are a breed that cut'n'run, making off-leash sessions for city-dwellers few and far between), I wonder who is getting the most out of this relationship. I imagine how I would feel as a kept woman; I feel uneasy about the extra attention I get with a dog; and I feel like I owe her something.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Biting Back
I knew instantly that he'd broke the skin. It all happened so fast, so close to home...and after a weekend of dog-cuddlin' and animal lovin'.
This morning, eager to get my week off to good start and start piling on the mileage in anticipation of the Ottawa half-marathon I'll be running in May, I headed out for a neighbourhood jaunt.
I'd barely ran ten feet when I was jumped, snapped, and yes, bitten by a little white lap dog. I was wearing thick lycra running pants and tough running tights, but I felt the sharp points make contact.
I jumped back and took an earphone out.
"Your dog just bit me!" I said, surprised, to the sunglasses woman dressed head-to-toe in fur.
She seemed almost as surprised as I was, even dropping the leash of the other dog she was walking.
I put my foot down on the leash and took in the situation.
I've been road running for nearly twenty years, and a dog lover even longer. My two passions were colliding in the worst way. I always prided myself on being able to stride past the gnarls and growls of the feistiest animals. I believed that if they smelled your fear they'd take a bite out of you--if they didn't, they'd become passive and let you on your way.
But this was a different situation. The woman explained that another dog, a big black one, had just 'attacked' her little white one (looked like a West Highland Whitie this morning). The little guy was spooked and on the offensive.
I told her she was lucky--I'm a dog person.
As I continued on my run I thought about how I should deal with it. On the surface, my leg hurt. I shouldn't have to worry about my personal safety when walking out my front door.
Then I thought about litigation. A friend of mine used to work in mediation, and she explained that a lot of cases are now being settled with mediators rather than lawyers. Not only does this save on court costs, my friend told me, but much of the time it isn't money that plaintiffs want, but empathy. They want to know that someone understands their point of view, the fact that something unjust occurred.
It was then that I decided to visit the owner; she'd pointed out her house, we were practically neighbours.
Later in the run I remembered my accident in the summer of 2003, when I cracked my pelvis at work, in a strange collision that involved me, a golf cart, and a tree. My boss picked me up at the hospital afterward, bought me ice cream and french fries...and had the golf cart disposed of the following day.
By the end of the summer the tree was also gone.
By the end of the year, I'd wished I'd taken the company to court. I'm sure Intrawest can afford to offset my student loan. It could be seen as a send-a-kid-to-camp program...only for ski bums who've hurt themselves in the line of duty.
But of course, this is Canada, and one of the things we pride ourselves on is the fact that we're not Americans, that we don't sue.
But sometimes I wish I could talk to my boss now, hear his side of the story. (If you want to hear more of mine, please ask. It's a pretty funny story).
As I made my way home I knew my leg was fine but I resolved to seek out the dog owner and get the full run-down.
Just now, I noticed her in front of my house, walking in the late afternoon sun Daylight Savings time has provided us.
I stepped out in my slippers, called her over, and identified myself as the runner from this morning. We chatted about the incident and I asked about shots. I even caught a few glances from the slow-moving rush hour cars on my street, smiling at the exchange between neighbours. Winter holes us up--spring is almost here.
Her name is Evelyn, and her dog is Spencer. Up close he looks more like a laso apso.
This morning, eager to get my week off to good start and start piling on the mileage in anticipation of the Ottawa half-marathon I'll be running in May, I headed out for a neighbourhood jaunt.
I'd barely ran ten feet when I was jumped, snapped, and yes, bitten by a little white lap dog. I was wearing thick lycra running pants and tough running tights, but I felt the sharp points make contact.
I jumped back and took an earphone out.
"Your dog just bit me!" I said, surprised, to the sunglasses woman dressed head-to-toe in fur.
She seemed almost as surprised as I was, even dropping the leash of the other dog she was walking.
I put my foot down on the leash and took in the situation.
I've been road running for nearly twenty years, and a dog lover even longer. My two passions were colliding in the worst way. I always prided myself on being able to stride past the gnarls and growls of the feistiest animals. I believed that if they smelled your fear they'd take a bite out of you--if they didn't, they'd become passive and let you on your way.
But this was a different situation. The woman explained that another dog, a big black one, had just 'attacked' her little white one (looked like a West Highland Whitie this morning). The little guy was spooked and on the offensive.
I told her she was lucky--I'm a dog person.
As I continued on my run I thought about how I should deal with it. On the surface, my leg hurt. I shouldn't have to worry about my personal safety when walking out my front door.
Then I thought about litigation. A friend of mine used to work in mediation, and she explained that a lot of cases are now being settled with mediators rather than lawyers. Not only does this save on court costs, my friend told me, but much of the time it isn't money that plaintiffs want, but empathy. They want to know that someone understands their point of view, the fact that something unjust occurred.
It was then that I decided to visit the owner; she'd pointed out her house, we were practically neighbours.
Later in the run I remembered my accident in the summer of 2003, when I cracked my pelvis at work, in a strange collision that involved me, a golf cart, and a tree. My boss picked me up at the hospital afterward, bought me ice cream and french fries...and had the golf cart disposed of the following day.
By the end of the summer the tree was also gone.
By the end of the year, I'd wished I'd taken the company to court. I'm sure Intrawest can afford to offset my student loan. It could be seen as a send-a-kid-to-camp program...only for ski bums who've hurt themselves in the line of duty.
But of course, this is Canada, and one of the things we pride ourselves on is the fact that we're not Americans, that we don't sue.
But sometimes I wish I could talk to my boss now, hear his side of the story. (If you want to hear more of mine, please ask. It's a pretty funny story).
As I made my way home I knew my leg was fine but I resolved to seek out the dog owner and get the full run-down.
Just now, I noticed her in front of my house, walking in the late afternoon sun Daylight Savings time has provided us.
I stepped out in my slippers, called her over, and identified myself as the runner from this morning. We chatted about the incident and I asked about shots. I even caught a few glances from the slow-moving rush hour cars on my street, smiling at the exchange between neighbours. Winter holes us up--spring is almost here.
Her name is Evelyn, and her dog is Spencer. Up close he looks more like a laso apso.
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