Every runner needs a dog

I went running this morning, my first run since Ketchikan a week and a half ago. And more importantly, my first run in Mission. Running here is going to be very different from Juneau.

There are a lot of dogs on the reservation. Some have owners; others just roam around. After running down the dirt road leading from my building, I was on Omaha Street. That's where I met the dogs. Well, one in particular. A black... something. I'm not good with breeds. I would guess a lab, maybe. Anyway, she left her yard and began running with me.

Typically, when this happens, the dog follows for a bit before returning home. Not this one. I knew I wouldn't be able to lose her once we hit Highway 83. There, she kept to the road, a four-lane highway. I thought she was going to get hit. And I just knew motorists driving by were thinking, "Hasn't that guy ever heard of a leash?" I know that's what they were thinking because that's what I think when I'm driving.

Anyway, we crossed over Highway 18 at the four-way stop and proceeded up a dirt road. It was a surprising good running surface with minimal traffic. It reminded me of Basin Road in Juneau. There was a definite rise in elevation along the road. I had been worried about a lack of hills in the area, especially considering the trails in Juneau. The big difference here though is the roads are so straight. It'll be a challenge to keep focused while running due to the long sight lines.

Another challenge will be the wind. I felt it out there today and the winds were relatively calm. There aren't too many trees around here, so there isn't much to break the wind.

I made it to the top of a rise with Black Dog at my side. What a view! Looking north, the dirt road continued. Turning to the south produced a wide view with Mission in the distance. Absolutely beautiful! I decided to make that my turnaround point, so Black Dog and I headed for home.

That dog had a death wish, I'm sure. Upon returning to the four-way stop, she just kept running. Luckily, the truck heading west on 18 was stopped and kindly let us pass, probably thinking, "Why doesn't that jerk have that damn dog on a leash?"

We got back to Omaha Street, where I expected Black Dog to return to her yard. No, she stuck with me, trailing me up the dirt road back to the building. I sat outside at one of the picnic tables for a bit to soak up some sum. I tried to read the dog's collar, but she wouldn't let me. While she was cleaning herself, I slipped back into the building. She didn't try to follow.