Dog Running, Part the First

K.L. is a majestic creature. Female siberian husky, about twelve months old, forty pounds or so. On her hind legs, when I kneel down, she can put her forelegs on my shoulder and lick my face. With poor aim, she can also claw my cheek, as she did today. Thick, velvet-soft fur all over, an even mix of night-black and snow-white fur. It comes out variously storm grey and andalusian blue in patches. Her face is mostly white, save an off-green mark near her left eye that I must ask J.L. about. Oh, and what piercing blue eyes, in the right light. I swear, it is almost if, when she's barking, and you kneel down and stare into those eyes, that she's talking to you.

Just now, K.L. just sat up, and her eyes were eggshell white. So very disorienting, almost like a ghost wolf.

Now that she is walking, I can see her legs, paws, and underbelly are mostly white, with hints of brown flecking here and there, as if a mad artist were flinging paint from his brush.

I don't know if her ears always stand at attention, but they are doing so now. Like triangular antennae, waiting to pick up sign of danger. She's just flicked her food at me, little round brown food pellets. I just told her to behave.

Right now, I think she's testing the limits of what she can get away with. K.L. has seen me a couple of times before, but has never been alone with me. Thus, test the boundaries. What can I get away with that Daddy won't allow? She already took me for a walk, and I picked up her poopl, so that right there established the dominant party.

J.L. had to leave the state on short notice, and asked if I would be a surrogate parent/babysitter. I said sure. How hard could this be?

K.L.'s flicking more and more of her food about the condominium. We'll make it an issue later. I'm just tired after this day of work.

I showed up, key in tow, unlocked the door, and found the condominium quiet. No K.L. Locked up in J.L.'s bedroom in her cage. Little doggie refugee from an unnamed war, pacing her tiny cell, refusing to give up the information her captors (me) want to know. Like how to open the door.

When I knelt down to the gate, K.L. perked up. Freedom, or so she hoped. What she could not count on was me flipping the latches up, watching them fall, clang against the door. It turned out they were meant to slide, slide to the left. Sliiiiiide. When I manipulated the latches, she tore out for (relative) freedom.

After some experimentation with the leash and collar, we were off and running.