rover

Sunday morning jog. These are the dogs I saw taking the air with their people.

A pair of chihuahua-pug mixes. A patient beagle who reminded me of a beagle-owning (but not beagle-like) friend in Denmark. A trim glossy black mongrel with a jaunty air and a stripe of fur on his back growing back-to-front, the only evidence, perhaps, of a Rhodesian Ridgeback somewhere in the tangled family tree. A dog chasing a favorite hurled toy, one that slightly arrestingly turned out to be a good-sized plastic unicorn. The dog himself seemed oblivious to any possible symbolism. Another dog sunk into wolfish concentration in pursuit of some squirrel, his domesticity and need to please lost for the moment in the tension of stalking live prey. The ancient and dignified ancestry of dogs becomes visible at such times. But this one's essential doggishness was constantly betrayed by the soft tips of his ears and the way they obstinantly flipped always opposite to the direction of his predatory motion.

I had to smile at him before jogging on past, braided hair swinging like a clock pendulum.