I have just been out for my first run of 2012.
I enjoy night runs most: the rhythm of feet on the ground, the inhale and exhale in time with steps, the chilly dark of the path up the road; the neon glow of bus stops as I pass them, the razor-clear moon, the welcome conglomeration of cars around the kebab van just outside Sainsbury’s.
Macaulay runs too.
I used to take him on a conventional lead. Poor soul. He’d find a juicy smell, a new contact, something which demanded further doggy investigation: and then the lead would yank unceremoniously in my direction. Heartrending, to leave smells unmarked; and anathema to a small terrier for whom smells are hard currency.
Last year I bought an extendable lead.
Now Macaulay has a small time window in which to sniff n’ scent before the call of the lead. At the beginning he would simply hang back, using the extra length to ponder a particularly inviting perfume. Now, he has worked out that if he runs out front and arrives at a desirable site long before me, he has the maximum communing time with any site of special sniffing interest, using both my approach and retreat to its full extent.
There comes a time when he has explored all he is going to explore.
This is uncharacteristic of Macaulay Shrewsday. Normally he will spray until there is no more cologne, so to speak; and he will continue to attempt to adorn lampposts and clumps of grass long after the well has run dry.
But on our runs he finishes his business and, with the cold black air running past his foppish ears and through that ample muzzle, I feel sure he remembers his ancestors and falls into step with ghost dogs of yore.
He pulls out just a few metres in front of me and maintains his distance; and I am faced with the rear view of my little dog, pacing solemnly through the night like some sled dog answering the call of the pack.
I find it comical, this small brown house dog affecting such airs and graces; but to him it is a serious business. I feel I should be shouting ‘Mush!’.
Of course, mushing teams these days would tell you that the word ‘mush’ is far too soft for your average pack of dogs. Modelled on the lyrical French ‘Marche!’ it does not have the explosive power required.
Now they follow a complex set of commands, starting with “Hike!” to get the dogs moving in the first place. It is most entertaining to hear mushers making extensive kissing noises to their teams. It’s supposed to make the dogs speed up.
“Gee!” turns the team to the right, “Haw!” to the left and “Whoa!” slows them to a stop. It takes months to get the animals to a point where they can obey the commands as a team.
They all know their place; at the back are the wheel dogs, the calmest, the steady, the strong: and great at rounding corners.
Next come the team dogs: the powerful ones; then the swing dogs, who link the leaders with the ones behind, the flexibility in the pack.
And finally there is the lead dog. These are the ones who make it to the movies: they are the sexy ones the authors love. Jack London’s Buck fights the vicious lead dog Spitz for his title and becomes lead dog of his pack in Call Of The Wild. And look what happened to Balto the Wonder Dog.
Anyone remember him?
Diptheria was once a killer. No more so than in the Alaskan settlement of Nome in 1925 when the town was sealed to prevent the spread of the epidemic.
A hospital in Anchorage had plenty of serum – but the logistics, in the dead of winter, left only one option: a continuous dog sled relay. The final 50 or so miles fell to Gunnar Kaasen and his team of dogs led by Balto.
Conditions were hellish: temperatures were running at minus 60 farenheit, and Kaasen was rendered virtually blind. But Balto ran on; and on. He missed the next relay but took his team and the serum straight to Nome. The town was saved, and to this day Balto the Lead Dog has his own statue in New York’s Central Park.
The leaders get the headlines; whole teams of dogs can learn to work together; but my maverick little dog works alone as he paces and smells the night.
To quote Jack Myers O’Hara as Jack London once did:
“Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom’s chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain.”
Image source here
Kate Shrewsday 
Wow, I’m a walker and typically during the day time. Hats off to you.
Once there’s a family around, Sharon, its the only time you get to yourself! Wonderful to slam the door behind you and run away, run away…
I’m a walker too these days — the knees, the knees! You make it sound so good though.
Our dog only learnt to cock his leg after learning it off another Border collie who used to go walkabouts (to our house) during the day while the rest of his family were in town. Before that our dog crouched on the grass and peed like a girl. Even now, he still has trouble with the concept, and will sidle up to a lamppost before cocking *the other* leg.
We therefore have the only stupid Border collie on the face of the planet. Though his cunning is legendary in many other respects!
If only someone had seen fit to design our knees to take the strain, Lynley!
Skillsets: collies are clever at many things; I have watched them run courses that would make Einstein’s eyes water. But If you want to know how to pee up a lamp-post, ask a terrier 😀
So there’s not mush substance to the ‘Mush’ legend?
It seems a donkey only has to master one consonant to drive a dogsled!
When you and Macauley go running, it seems that the question arises as to who is taking whom for a run!
Yes, you are right, he’s in charge, Col 😀 As usual your comment has my brain in a whirl…
I’m impressed with the running. I’ve tried it on occasion, but it’s not really my style 🙂
– though having a doggy companion I can see would make it more appealing, especially one so entertaining as your Macaulay.
If it’s any consolation, I’m rubbish, Pseu. I just do it because, like Macaulay, I like the feeling of the air rushing past me and the solitude and the moon.
I too am a mere walker. I am impressed. My mind has always wanted to be a runner, but my body says “you’re joking.”
My Lead Dog Was a Lesbian is a very entertaining book about a dog sled race. I cannot imagine the cold described, either here or in that story.
Andra, the porn-film titles on your blog are making you a virtuoso in the field of iffy straplines 😀 You have sent us all clamouring for Amazon- hope I get there before anyone else bags the last copy…*rolls up sleeves*
(Are your titles working, by the way?More traffic?)
Titles are working. Daily traffic is up by a third. Plus, it builds more search engine links going forward.
Wow! What a fabulous strategy!! Great move!
Dear Kate – fantastic description – Normally he will spray until there is no more cologne, so to speak; and he will continue to attempt to adorn lampposts and clumps of grass long after the well has run dry.
What a wonderful running team you and Macaulay make – wish I had half of your energy.
Oh, Rosemary, anyone who knows the route between my house and the kebab van knows it’s not far 😀 But it’s nice to be out with the stars,Macaulay and me.
Well, I’ve had my exercise for the day! I gazed skywards. Proof is here (since you asked yesterday)
http://viewfromthebackdoor.wordpress.com/
Dogs are wonderful running companions. My knees don’t stand it these days – one of the perils of reaching a great age. However, I can dream. I can also hear huskies. Once a day they are fed, and the noise is amazing. Rain or shine, midday is heralded in the same fashion. They live about half a mile away, but their pleasure drifts on the breeze (and even today’s howling wind!)
I have always been a morning runner until recent years. I loved getting out early and hitting the road for about 45 minutes of various speeds. In years past, when the knees and feet could take the pounding, I enjoyed fartlekking at least twice a week. It was great exercise and fun to do. Unfortunately, after about 25 years of running on pavement 7 days a week, the pounding has finally forced me to go to the treadmill for speed walking mixed with the very occasional minute or so of a little jog. I did try to do some running on golf courses which was easy on the body, but, between tripping on sprinkler heads and getting chased off by greenskeepers, I had to forego that pleasure.
Little Maccaulay has found his niche and is definitely your lead dog, interesting how it takes virtually no time at all fro him to figure out the extended lead deal, smart doggy.
Love the story of Balto the Wonder Dog, amazing feat.
I didn’t think it was possible to love Macauley more, but now I do.
Running? No. Never. You’ll have my admiration, but not my company.
Jack London really captured the essence of that frontier and the stories were those of courage and stamina and victory(and hardship and death) that drove Americans to conquer a continent. By age 12, I had read much of Jack London, H G Wells, Edgar Rice Burroughs, Arthur Conan Dole and James Fenimore Cooper. They captured me and hooked me and made me a life long reader. M favorite authors are Mark Twain and Herman Hesse.
I’m sure Lulubelle would bite me in alarm if I ever attempted to run … love Mac’s cologne, hahaha!
Another great post, Kate, and you are an inspiration (though me running, let alone running with a dog on a lead, is a frightening thought).
I have always thought that the story of the diphheria epidemic in Nome and the trek to get the life-saving serum to be one of the Alaskan frontier’s greatest stories. Gary Paulsen is an interesting writer of both adult and children’s books. He can be rather graphic in details, but, his books are good reads. He’s written several on the Iditarod, Winterdance, his own story of running the Iditarod, is one. He has several for children about dogsledding as well. Dogsong comes to mind.
I imagine you already know, but, in case you don’t, the Iditarod is a yearly dogsled race that goes from Nome to Anchorage, Alaska. It is in honor of the 1925 trek to save the townspeople of Nome. Of course, there is now high stakes for the winner, but, it always catches my imagination.
Marvellous, humerous piece 🙂 I’m a walker myself but DH runs so I kind of understand the attraction. Have you seen “Balto” as an animated movie? Happy adaptation of an inspiring story!
My knees and feet no longer accomodate running or jogging . . . day or night.
So, other than a brisk sprint on the beach (from time to time), I walk far more sedately . . . often stopping to smell the roses (like Macauley) without leaving my “cologne” behind. 😉
Beautiful post, Kate.
That’s the joy of walking: every now and then you get to stand and stare 🙂
Thanks, Nancy.
I do love the seriousness of small dogs. Even mine, who is most often a clown, takes some duties very seriously. And when he does? Marche!
Indeed, Cameron: such gravity in one so small and pungent.
Love the idea of running at night, especially clear night sky to run underneath
It’s great, Nicola: really clears the mind for writing!
I flashed between mental images of Jack London’s tundra adventures and you and Macaulay running through your forest. You paint a colorful and enticing landscape, even for winter. I love the respect you bestow on your wonderful canine pal. He must be good company for you, and I’m sure you are for him! Debra
He is fabulous company, Debra: there is nothing quite like running alongside a doggy companion!
He’s seen the movie and now lets his imagination loose when you run together in the dark. your footfalls are merely the pack, in step, behind him, while he leads the team to glory!
He can hear the crowds cheer…..:-D
Hats off to you, Kate! I have always wanted to be a runner, but I’m just not built for it (oh, to be long and lithe). I can power up a steep rocky trail like a sturdy little mountain goat, but if asked to run, I simply lie down and whine. 🙂
Go wee Macaulay…you good dog, you! He’s such a neat little friend.
He is…always here at the important moments.
Lovely post, Kate. I knew there were a million reasons why I prefer dogs to people!
What would we ever do without them. Denise?
I love the image of a solemn and determined little Macaulay on a mission to make the most of his long lead 😀
I had to give up running in November after I developed a Morton’s neuroma in my left foot and am highly frustrated at the whole sorry situation as I’m sure you can appreciate, Kate. Nothing works better to blow away the cobwebs
You’re right there, BB. Love it: and so does he!