Wild sage growing in the weeds.

Ah, Labor Day. Summer’s last...wimper. At least that’s how it seemed this year. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. Although the constant grayness can be mildly depressing, it still makes me happier than the relentless heat and humidity we usually receive this time of year. I’ve always been much better friends with fall than with summer. And for once, summer hasn’t just gone screaming into winter this year.

So it was a couple of days of relaxation, combined with feelings of guilt over the continuing slippage of my training. But I feel ready to commit and get back on the wagon for this final 10-week stretch. And I did get one really good run in at my parents’ place. So at least that’s something. I guess.

Funny thing about that... My parents live in a neighborhood where everyone seems to own at least one dog. And yet, many of them don’t even attempt to contain said dogs. And so, often as I run though the open, sprawling, cornfield-surrounded countryside, I find myself being pursued by a pack of overly enthusiastic canines of all shapes and sizes. Usually they’re friendly, and I’m very much a dog person, but honestly, I’ve always had it in the back of my mind that one day one of these mutts may turn out to be not so friendly after all.

So imagine my surprise when, this weekend, I was bitten by my very own brother’s dog! That’s right, on Sunday night, for no reason (as far as anyone can tell) the bitch freaked out and tried to bite my face off. There was blood. There was (and still is) pain. And yet, when it happened, I somehow managed to keep my immediate surge of anger in check, and refrained from kicking the shit out of the fucker. Go me.

Honestly, I’ve always loved the dog. She’s adorable, sweet, loyal, and obedient. And has always shown me nothing but exuberant puppy affection. Which makes it even scarier, actually. And now my brother and sister-in-law, who talk about having children in the not-so-distant future, have a very difficult road ahead of them. I’m hoping some animal behaviorist or whatever (I assume there’s such a thing, right?) will be able to help them sort the whole thing out.

In the meantime, I’ll be out taking my chances with the packs of dogs roaming around the neighborhood.