The Fuston Pack: Argos and The Boys

As the occasional wafts of salty, wet dog overtake my senses, I brush sand from my still damp pants and smile to myself, wow, I'm blessed.

I just watched the sunset perched atop a giant sand-rock (or whatever is was) with three happy dogs dancing beneath my feet and playing in the surf. It was my second meet with Crash and Chauncey, now deemed "The Boys" in my exchanges with Vicky.

I needed an easy night (can't run everyday), and as my weekend got more and more busy I worried I wouldn't have a chance to see Crash this week. So I posed a post-work Fort Funston adventure to Vicky, and extended the invite to James and Argos.

This was Chauncey's first real outing with me and he did wonderful. As per Vicky's instructions I let Crash off lead and kept Chauncey on while we explored the trails atop Fort Funston.

Argos trotted back and forth and importuned us to throw his new found stick incessantly. Always the model pup. I was grateful to have him there. His obedience and constant smile puts me at ease, and I swear the other dogs behave better in his presence.

I was a little weary of letting Crash off the leash, considering this was only my second meet with him, and while The Boys have come to know me and begin to howl and hop from their upper deck when I pull into the drive, I'm still new to them, and proving myself worthy of being followed. Furthermore, he's a bloodhound, and is predisposed to turn his nose on and his ears off as soon as we get outside. Predictably, he put his snout to the ground, tail high and wagging (it looks just like one of those orange flags attached to a soapbox car), and started following whatever scent he stumbled upon, but he stayed with the pack. Just as he'd venture far enough to make me anxious (in my mind I was already calculating how many steps between him and I, if I sprinted, could I get to him before he ran off if he tried), he'd check in, look up, respond to my call. Whew.

Chauncey, being the only pup on lead, was constantly pulling and trying to play with the others, despite my efforts and reminder tugs. He just couldn't help himself. So when we came to a secluded open area, with limited and narrowed entry points, I decided to test him out. I mean, things were going so well, if there was no drama, I'd have nothing to write about. Just kidding. I wanted him to feel free and trustworthy like the others, and I had faith he was.
And he was.
After some good romping around, stick chasing, and brother wrestling, I called Chauncey, and he sat while I put the leash back on, before we left our private play area.

Crash continued to surprise me as we ventured down to the beach. He was easy to call off from his inspection of other dogs, and he seemed to determine a safe range on his own that was within my anxiety boundaries.

Once we hit sand, I couldn't help it; I decided to take a risk. I ditched all the leashes (and shoes), Chauncey's included. We explored our way down the mostly deserted beach until sunlight began to fade. The Boys discovered things I am certain they had not known in quite some time, if ever. In and out of the water, free to roam with no end in sight, no fence, no leash, no worries.

This was a pretty special evening for me, to be able to give to these dogs in this way. I know from my exchanges with Vicky that when I do not come to take The Boys out, they just hang with her about the house and back yard. They are happy dogs, and their bond with their mother is strong. I am just grateful to be a positive element in their life, as Vicky has shared their stories with me, and it seems that hasn't always been the case...

Vicky explained to me in an email before I took the dogs out this second time a little of their history. Chauncey was past the puppy stage when she got him, and at about two years old, both he, and a younger Crash, were beat up by the boyfriend of their care taker when she was in the hospital. Prior to that, during a different hospital stay, a friend was walking Chauncey when he was struck by a van that was moving pretty quick. Clearly he is ok, but she says he's never really been the same since.
Crash was also grazed by a car while under the care of another, but, as she puts it, "nothing seems to phase him".

Despite all this, neither dog has shown an ounce of aggression, and are fully trusting and embracing of this new pup runner in their lives, and somehow, so is Vicky.

Oh, and we took some photos.

Bacanack: The Turk

Despite my many years of mandatory study of a foreign language, I still don't speak Spanish. I can manage my way through Spanglish enough when I travel. I even successfully conversed with an Italian named Fabio, who did not speak English, on the North coast of Zanzibar years ago during my stay in Africa. Admittedly though, on some level, I don't even speak English all that well. I tend to make up words (Beau used to dub them "Brookisms"). I say good, when I mean well. I use nouns as adjectives, and invent new tenses for verbs.
Suffice it to say, language is not my thing. I mean, I was a math major at one point. I certainly don't speak Turkish

This dog does. His name is Bacanack, Baci for short.

Sorry Cheri, but I'm gonna spell it phonetically from here on out: Bahji.

Bahji was my first true "puprunnersf CL ad post to reply to meet to run" pup. We arranged that Bahji's mom would bring him to work, and we would do a hand off at lunch. Bahji and I would run, then chill, and his mom would pick him up when she got off work.

As I approached the address for Cheri's work, I instantly recognized Bahji from his picture, pacing about in the park across the street. He's a proud looking pup. Dense, sleek fur, big smile, and really captivating honey colored eyes. I hastily park and stride up to the pair. Sitting with Cheri is a male friend and his dog (there seems to be a lot of male chaperoning on my meets, and I'm always grateful for it, as I think allows everyone to be a bit more relaxed, pups included). I greet the group using Bahji's full name, but I'm certain I've mispronounced it, and quickly introduce myself in hopes no one noticed.

Bahji is friendly, but makes a point to ignore me some as well, ever the street pup. I alternate between petting him and the other dog while his mom explains to me how she lived in Istanbul for over two years and rescued him as a stray from the streets. He was covered in mange, and wasting away. I look at this shiny coated pup with gleaming white teeth and very healthy gums and fail to picture him any other way.

Cheri's friend jokes that I can take his dog too, and I'm tempted, but today is about Bahji, and my first pup run, so I shrug off the offer.

Now I've had Turkish friends before. I knew some guys from pick up soccer who were from Turkey, and we got along fine, so I'm not too worried about this dog. Of course, they all spoke English.

As Cheri goes over a list of commands, in Turkish, that Bahji might respond to, I'm wishing I had a better ear for language all over again. Otur. Sit. Come. What? Thankfully, in her demonstration, Bahji decides not to listen regardless of language. Being in the US just over six months, he's still adapting to having an owner, and listening, and English.

Cheri's friend instructs me to teach him English, and I nod and resolve to myself to do just that.

When it comes time to part, Bahji refuses to get in the car until Cheri is out of sight. She hesitates going inside as she sees him tugging and straining in her direction. I know forcing him will accomplish nothing and thus wait. The door closes behind her. He seems to finally realize I'm coaching him into the backseat and hops right in.

Relief. The first battle won.

Once back at my work, I take him off lead and let him explore around the place. He is exceptionally nondestructive, and I fully trust him to wander out of my sight, but it's not long before he settles to lay next to my desk.
Then it's time to run.
We leash up and after walking a block or so to warm up, we establish a nice, steady pace, and Bahji does great, totally in stride with me.

Most of the pups I've been running of late, I know personally, and thus run them off leash, and they do better that way, but I couldn't do that here. So we made do with the language barrier, and bonded through the run, creating a language of our own, which was so much more than words.

To my pleasant surprise, the only time Bahji tugged at all on the leash was on the home stretch, and to be fair, it was really me who was doing the tugging. As Bahji tired and slowed, he would fall behind, until I coaxed him to catch up again. He ran nearly five miles with me that day, not bad for a first outing, not bad at all.

Bahji was content to sleep on the cool floor next to my desk again for the rest of the afternoon, occasionally getting up for water, or to sniff around and check out whatever food was being eaten, albeit, not exactly beg.

When Cheri arrived to pick him up I warned her that he might be extra hungry that night. Then I picked up his leash, and...

"Bahji, Sit."

And he did.

Argos: The Well Behaved German

James recently moved to SF. Forget the fact that it's nice he's
finally on this side of the bridge (Castro Valley can be very far),
and is saving loads of time and gas money, let's focus on what's
really important: Argos.

Argos' mom, Ashley, placed a "room for rent" ad on our new favorite
online tool: Craigslist. Lucky for me, James was favored as a match
for the house and just like that, a new pup in my life.

Four year old Argos is a purebred German Shepard, the son of a working
police pup, and all gentleman. Honestly, this is the best behaved pup
I've ever had the honor of running. I wear the leash (tied across my
shoulders, this isn't the casual encounters section) far more than he
does, come to think of it, I'm not sure he's ever worn it.

It had been some time since I'd ran a pup when I casually offered to
Ashley, and as she is fast approaching her MCAT test, she took me up
on it. It had been even longer since I'd ran anyone other than Blu.

Argos is a worthy substitute, and that's saying quite a lot. James
often tells me he wants to steal him away, and I don't think he's
using that as part of the playful dialogue like I do.
(In my dreams, all white Blu and all black Argos are totally
sweethearts and have many puppies for me to love, and run. Ok, maybe
that was TMI?)

That first jaunt with Argos was short and sweet, just jogging from
lower Haight up the panhandle and back, but it was clear at once that
this was a pup I was going to enjoy knowing. He has those same
gleaming eyes filled with the expectation of what he is sure is
coming. He stays close, is easy to call off a pursuit (bird, another
dog, hydrant), and learns new patterns quickly.

Since then, I have run Argos quite a few times. He was attentive and
patient on a Land's End Trail stroll with small Callie and her mom
Becca. He gets me up early and keeps my pace strong when we run down
to Chrissy before work, despite that powerful headwind we seem to
always run into, and the fact that I'm not a HUGE morning person. I
finally saw him get just a trace tired after a six mile jog to GGB and
back.

Argos, I should mention, is not just loved by myself, or James, or
even Ashley. He is loved by all. He is in fact, famous.

The first time James took him out, it happened. Someone called out his
name. No, not James', the dog's.

"Hey Argos, what's happening?"

Then again when I took him to the dog park.

"Isn't that Argos? That's not your dog."

And twice when James walked him to my work in SOMA.
Now, I get the neighborhood recognition. He's good looking, and quite
the gent, but he was TWO miles away from home and people are STILL
stopping to greet him by name. This dog is something else.

I've since gotten used to taking a backseat to this pup. I struggle to
think of an outing when he wasn't recognized these days.

I've taken to meeting James and Argos when I have new pups with me.
Argos is like having a hall monitor that speaks both languages. He
keeps everyone in line, is instantly, and unquestionably, the dominant
leader among the canines, and wholeheartedly seems to enjoy his time
navigating as a pack.

Crash: A Course in Faith

Crash came to me in a round about way. Both Crash's mom, Vicky, and myself had posted ads on CL, but neither of us had bothered to browse the very list we were posting in.

My ad essentially stated:
I love dogs. I will run your dog for free. (See "The Ad(age)" for my actual ad)

Vicky had posted:
My Big Boy Bloodhound, "Crash" is in need of a human friend to run with. We live 3 blocks from Golden Gate Park.
I am disabled with nerve damage to both legs & I have fallen several times trying to walk him because I often lose my balance.
Unfortunately, this would be a "volunteer" position as I am on Social Security Disability & I just don't have any money to spare.
I used to take my dogs out using my (old lady) scooter but it's not running right now.
Crash is a good boy & is big enough to protect his human should it be required.
Please consider this "volunteer" position if you live in the outer Sunset/Parkside districts!

It was quite simply a match made in pup-running-Craigslist-pet-section heaven. Of course, due to both of ours apathy, it was doomed to never take place.

I should take a minute here to explain that I'm not a very compassionate person. That sounds odd, I know. What do I mean? Well, I believe in survival of the fittest, I don't give money to the homeless. I don't feel bad for people with addictions to drugs or alcohol. I'm harsh, and unforgiving of society. I have seen a boy rise above the poverty line of the ghettos of Texas, live out of a motel in Oregon just to finish high school, put himself through college, med school, and become a doctor, and a great man (good job Jeremy). I've also seen a bum pull down his pants and take a dump on the street right in front of me. I don't really feel for humanity. Humans, for the most part, while capable of doing good, are more destructive than productive.

Now, don't take this to mean I love dogs and hate humans, not at all the case. This is certainly not a commentary on Vicky either. I only mention this so you can understand my surprise at how Crash and I came to know each other.

Within hours of re-posting my ad I got an email:

Please check out this link to someone wanting a "runner" for their dog.
http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sfc/pet/1856555059.html
Hope it works out for you!

Jaded by the spam I had been receiving instead of real inquiries, I was disenchanted by this email, but when I clicked the link provided I was pleasantly surprised to see a head shot of Crash and Vicky's post, not the scam plastered page I was expecting.

It certainly seemed real. It was worth a follow up. I quickly drafted a friendly e-tro to Vicky and hit send, trying not to hold my breath, once burned already.

Vicky got back to me the same day. Her emails are always a really LARGE font and brightly colored and bold. She includes emoticons, over uses explanation points, and often signs them with a flower animation of some sort. Despite all that, I really like her. She is kind, and open, and cares about the things in her life that care for her, namely, her dogs.

Yes, dogs, plural. Crash has a step brother, Chauncey. I have not asked why Chauncey was not included in the ad. He is a bit older than Crash, and perhaps she assumed it would be easier to find someone for one unruly dog rather than two, and thus listed he in the most need, young Crash.

With the accompaniment of James, for safety's sake (I grew up with a paranoid father and older brother who are both convinced the world is out to get this redhead), I went to Vicky's home that Friday after work for my first true puprunnersf meet n' greet.

What a wonderful family for my first. The pure essence of why I decided to do this. Without a better way to put this, it is clear Vicky is in need of my "service". Her limited mobility leaves her easily overtaken by the enlivened dogs. She is suppose to keep her legs elevated and this results in an unkempt home. Most of the items in the living room, a reclined futon couch pushed against the half open sliding glass doors to the small balcony, a worn out rug sprinkled with the remains of a half eaten stick, seem there for the dogs' sake more than any human.

She is chatty and sweet.
I am overwhelmed with gratefulness for my health and my ability to run.

Crash is a great dog. Easily excitable, completely non-aggressive, and Bloodhound through and through, with his nose to the ground, tail wagging high, and loud, deep howl. We ventured to GGP, jogged a little to test him out, let him off lead in the protection of the Polo Fields, and got to know each other. I can see Crash growing into a great pup.

When I returned, Vicky asked if I would take Chauncey out in the grassy space across the road, so he wouldn't be jealous. I happily obliged.

I received three more emails from random women trying to connect myself and Crash before the weeks end, with nothing to be gained for themselves. I replied to each of them that I had touched base with Crash and his mom.

Faith in humanity restored.

Blu: aka My Love

Let's circle back for a moment before I launch into the pups...

I think David said it best when there was a weekend I was suppose to pup sit Blu, and then things changed. I was sulking a bit, and in an effort to cheer me up he was suggesting other ways for me to get my "pup fix".
D: Maybe we can find another dog to steal for you to play with one day this weekend?
Me: Who's? You don't know anyone who has a dog! (Did I say sulking? I meant to say: acting like a brat.)
D: Well, we can go to the SPCA again and see the dogs.
Me: Nooo. They make it so much work to even pet a dog.
D: Let's walk down to Chrissy and stalk dogs. That always delivers.
Me: It's not the same. I was looking forward to seeing Blu.
D: I know it's not. The difference is, not only do you love Blu, but she loves you too.

And that makes all the difference.
Blu follows me into the bathroom when I go pee (I suppose I do the same to her though to be fair). She turns into a squeaky toy for the first 30 minutes (or half mile) after I show up as she's overcome with excitement. She jumps into my car at every chance.
At any given time I can easily picture her Sammy Smile bounding next to me down the Embarcadero on those dark, cold Wednesday nights, both of us preceded by clouds of hot breath. Her blazing eyes looking up at me about every third stride, checking in, waiting for the next command. I run Blu off leash. She's actually better, more attentive, that way. She watches my movements, the placement of each step, my hand signals, trying to decipher if we're turning, or weaving, stopping, or sprinting. The sled dog in her listens as well. This is the Iditarod, they're all the Iditarod, and she'll be damned if she's left behind.

It's never too late, or too early for a romp to Blu, and it's never long enough (well, almost never, I've found her kryptonite: stairs). It's never the same without her.

I really believe exercise is one of the greatest gifts you can give a dog (treats are overrated and I've never given Blu a single one), and Blu and I bonded quick and strong because of our runs. I am her running partner, and she is mine.

[Some required post script: We don't actually "steal" or "stalk" dogs, these are just part of a playful dialogue I've developed over the course of my dog loving life.
I am that person who goes to "dog locations" without a dog though. Chrissy field, Fort Funston, the beach, the park... thank goodness SF doesn't have those signs like they do for playgrounds: "You must be accompanied by a dog to enter this area."
And Blu has a wonderful Dad who also runs and bikes with her, and at times us. No wonder she's such a good pup.]

The Rerun

After a full day of not thinking about my, thus far failed, adventures in dog running, I opt to check on my CL ad only to discover it wasn't there. It had expired.

As a CL novice, it took me some time to navigate my way back to a page where I could re-post my ad. Before hitting "post" I read it again, and considered making some changes. A few friends had suggested I try charging a small fee to make it seem more legitimate, and since my botched first attempt I contemplated this further. Would it actually help? Was it worth a shot? Was it what I was going for? I decided it was decisively not, and the only way to succeed with my intended goal was to just be dogged about it.

Then I considered not re-posting it.

I hit post. "Returned to Craigslist" and looked for it. It wasn't there. I already knew from the first time (and because David told me so) that it takes a bit for a new ad to show up, but that didn't stop me from hitting refresh a few times before resolving to try again later.

Before I had a moment to check back on my ad I got an email:

Please check out this link to someone wanting a "runner" for their dog.
http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sfc/pet/1856555059.html
Hope it works out for you!

Excitement withheld. Please check out this link huh? That sounds exactly like SPAM! Damn. I mean, even Wendy who was hawking online meds in my first week wished me to have a wonderful day.

I checked it out, with no expectations, and there was Crash.

Following Crash came Bacanack, and I was officially off and running...

The Free Fail.

I first posted my ad on July 14th. Ads stay "active" on CL for 7 days, and then they expire.

Free dog runner in this hard economy? The replies will come pouring in!

...Any day now...
Each day I'd check the puprunnersf folder of my gmail. Nothing. I'd hit refresh. Stare. Sigh. My anxious excitement turned to a dreary dismay as my ad fell farther and farther from the top of the list.

Then one day. It happened. New emails! SPAM EMAILS!?! Ugh. I did however learn there are free grants available to all US citizens (thanks Marguarita), I can earn $2,000/week by working from home (by golly Ricky, I DO want to "Explode My Income"), but I am going to pass on those 25 (count 'em) positions from "Online Corporations" hiring "people in California" Amy, thanks for thinking of me though.

I had even posted the link to my ad on Facebook. And still nothing (save a few laughs and inquires to if it was for real from friends).
Then an email, with a normal subject line, and a picture of a very handsome German Shepard (possible mix) attached. My first REAL reply.

I am excited. I forward it to a few friends with my excitement, albeit with a little reservation: "Whoo Hoo! This one looks legit! Am I being overzealous?"

I feel like I just caught my first fish after days of no bites and I'm waving it around, showing it off to anyone who will look.

I reply. Cautiously. I'm careful to be friendly, but not sound CL creepy (that's a fine line). I want to convey that yes, I already love your dog, and I haven't even met her, but no, I'm not trying to steal her, really, I promise.

Then... nothing. Again. I've been denied. This person doesn't even want to accept FREE help from me.
There's really no way to explain the feeling you get when you're rejected by complete strangers who you've never met, and exchanged less than 100 words with. I've looked for housing in SF enough times that I should be accustomed to the dismissive nature of CL, but that big fish I was so excited about? It just jumped the hook.

A few more days go by, and I'm not even getting spam anymore.
I let the ad expire without even realizing.

The Ad(age)

Argos' Mom, Ashley (I'll introduce Argos soon, I promise), has an adage, that I swear I've heard before, or perhaps I just agree with it so wholeheartedly it seems like something I've heard/said.

A Tired Pup, is a Happy Pup. (Ok, she may have said dog.)

It's true. Dogs are pack animals. They like knowing their place in the world (pack), and doing their part. We so often hear about "working dogs" and "dogs with jobs" and how much they take comfort in those roles. Like people, they gain from contributing, participating. I believe a worn out dog at the end of the day had a damn good day.

One day, I decided there are dogs out there that might not have enough good days, and at the same time, I didn't have enough good running partners (MY definition of a good running partner: one who enjoys running more than myself and motivates me to keep going, doesn't want to make conversation or mind that I have my iPod on loud enough to almost drown out their voice, and always runs at whatever pace I want, or maybe a step faster, for as long as I want, or maybe longer, and can pee on the go, but will always wait patiently for me to do the same. In short: a dog).

So I turned to Craigslist. I created myself a new email address from gmail (puprunnersf), immediately forwarded it to my main email, and posted the following ad in the pet section:

Hi, I am a 20 something working female who doesn't do drugs or drink. However, I do play soccer, and work out, and hike, and RUN. I really love running with dogs, there's something very motivating about seeing how much they enjoy that gallop down the trail.

My life currently does not lend itself to owning a dog of my own, but I have owned 7 dogs of all sizes and breeds in my life. Each passed away old and happy (except one who leads a great life with my brother in Oregon).

My dog-owning friends are kind enough to occasionally be too busy to exercise their dogs and indulge me with this privilege. I am also a favorite dog sitter by pets and owners alike, but I digress. If you think you might also benefit from having a designated running/exercise pal for your dog, I'd love to be that person.

I am knowledgeable of dogs, animal behavior, and care. I respect the owner's rules and commands, as we all have different beliefs, but consistency is what's best for the dog. I am flexible in scheduling, get up early, and stay active late. Oh, and I'm free. This isn't my attempt to make some extra money or get a side job, I really just love dogs (and all animals), and would love the chance to run with your dog.

Shoot me an email if you'd like to get together for a meet and greet, or, if your dog needs to go for a run. I'm happy to supply references.


I plan to continue to always repost it, so you should be able to see/share it here:

http://sfbay.craigslist.org/sfc/pet/1857343265.html

Step 1. Done.

Pup Runner SF embarks

As I sit in my office chair with a dog I met only 20 minutes ago patiently dozing on the floor at my feet, it dawned on me, I should write about the things I'm learning.

So, here begin my adventures in Pup Running.

It all started with... well, really, I don't know if I could pin point how it started. I mean, one could argue it started when I moved to SF, but it could have been even earlier.

When I moved to SF I had been living and commuting from Alamo for almost a year, and was increasingly unhappy with the amount of time I spent being active and doing things I loved, like playing soccer. One day I was driving down Marina Blvd and saw a volleyball league taking place at Little Marina Green. There was a sign: Golden Gate Sport and Social Club. I made a mental note and kept driving. I can't be sure if it was that night, or perhaps another, but I googled it, unaware of the impact it would have on my life in this city.

I emailed the league about co-ed soccer and Mike promptly placed me on an "Indy" team. The season was already a couple weeks in.

Leaving the house the morning of my first game I was excited and nervous, and found myself in one of those rare moments where I am at once both outgoing, and shy. I trotted up to my new team, proclaimed my introduction, and then shut up while I sorted out this new group of teammates.

Now, this day is significant for a few reasons. It is the first day I met Erika and Kristoph Lodge, a brother-sister duo who grew up playing soccer and with whom I instantly singled out as kinsfolk.

Erika would later invite me to join a league at Telegraph field playing with Alberto's team, which would prompt her/us to start another team on Wednesdays, which her brother Kristoph would join, after enduring knee surgery and rehab (this story is years in the making). When we needed more guy players one season, Kristoph asked Irvine to join. Irvine is the father of Blu. I will come back to Blu.

Another reason why this day is so important in my path to today is that it was through playing soccer at GGSSC that I discovered co-ed flag football, Pain Train, and Greg. It was in my football career that I broke my finger. Well, actually, dislocated it. Pretty badly. Now, when this happened, I was only a few weeks returned from a broken foot (which took place in that aforementioned Wednesday night league) and thus very determined to stay off the I/R list (and I didn't have health insurance to boot). So, what does a girl surrounded by football guys do when she completely dislocates her ring finger in the middle of a grassy field and wants to avoid going to a doctor? She walks away from the group, takes a deep breath, and yanks as hard as she can. When that doesn't do it, she pulls again, but this time for real, and lets out a mildly loud swear word. Boom. Finger relocated. Swollen, bruised, painful, you bet, but in the right place and problem solved.

Or so I thought. Two months later, "the finger" was still... crooked. Visibly. I went to a hand doctor, who was great.

Fast forward a couple years, a second break of the same bone (shatter is more accurate), three surgeries, five screws, four wires and a case of athletic tape later...
I just had all the hardware removed from my finger. It's healing nicely, but there are holes in my already fragile bone. I'm cleared for "activity" but no contact, no falling, no soccer.

For better or worse, over the two-three years since I picked up soccer again, it has become, well, essentially, my life. I play as often as six days a week, in every league, night, format. Co-ed, woman's premiere, futsal.

This was the fourth time in a matter of just over two years I'd been told by a doctor I couldn't play soccer. I was about to burst through my own skin. On top of that, I had my upcoming woman's season to get/stay in shape for. I had no choice but to, gasp, run.

I never loved running. I was recruited for the track team in high school and only conceded when I was told I could pole vault all the time instead of running. I liked running even less on concrete. Even less when it was my only choice. Even less when it was suppose to take the place of soccer.

As much as I loathed running, I loooved Blu. Blu is my canine soul mate. She is a Samoyed. She is the prettiest dog you will ever see. She is well trained. She is not mine.
I know that it may seem odd that I fawn over another's dog this way, but what can I say, the girl is just that great. Blu likes to run. Hard and fast and long.

So began my first pup run. While Irvine would come up to the city to play soccer on Wednesdays, Blu and I would run. All over the city, up and down the Embarcadero, over a many San Francisco hills, down piers, up the different sets of stairs to Coit Tower.

Blu ran me back to health. We would wear each other out, but we didn't stop until an hour passed and we'd returned to Telegraph field. She was always game, but more than that, she was enthusiastic. I learned to love running by experiencing it through the eyes of a dog.

Although it's been almost a year since that last surgery, and I've been back playing for quite some time, I still run with Blu. I still run in general, but it's never as fulfilling as when I get to share it with a being that loves it much more than I. Knowing how much they love the camaraderie of the joint dash motivates me to keep giving them more, and more, of that sweet joy.

So, how did I end up with this dog at my feet that I barely know?
Craigslist.
I love Blu, but she lives in Menlo Park, and I don't get to see her, or run her, nearly as much as I'd like. So I posted an ad on Craigslist stating that I love dogs, and I want to run your pup, for free.

These are the tales of what came next...