Foster is a runner. Whether chasing dogs or chasing leaves, whether being chased by Galileo, Edison or the wind swooshing at his back, he loves to run.
And he’s fast. When he was a pup with legs longer than he could control, he’d often go tumbling, tripping on his own feet, roll over a few times and then hit the ground running again.
He finds so much joy in circling the park, cutting off the other dogs, movOMG in for a quick Tag, you’re it! then ZOOM!, off he goes in a different direction. His ears flap, his muscles quiver and his mouth opens wide as the Sargasso Sea.
And when he’s done, he’s done. He’ll throw himself to the ground, pant like tramp on dollar night, collect his breath and bearings and, ZOOM AGAIN!, he’s off.
We call him Rocketman, not only for the way he darts out of his crate, bounding through the air, over dogs and carelessly placed human feet, between the chairs then under the table out to the back yard where he barrel races the potted olives, mangoes and limes, but also because when he runs, he darts forward as if a rocket, zig zagging the entire park as fast as fast ever imagined it could be. One day I may fit him with an speedometer and a GoPro just to clock how fast he goes and see the fuzzy, blur he sees when he’s racing the wind.
Leave a Reply