Today, in our more civilised countries, we are legally obligated to keep dogs on the lead in most places. I’m not here to argue the pros and cons of such legislation, but I am here to say it’s very sad. We live in an age and society where we are perhaps a little over-precautious, and our multitudinous fears may very well be our own undoing… However, where Dog and I lived there were no such regulations, or if there were no one ever seemed particularly inclined in approaching a six-foot-two, pink faced boxer and his slightly insane companion as they pounded along pavements sweating enough buckets to liberally water a lawn or two. 

            One of the greatest joys I ever experienced with Dog was to run together. Here was a fellow who was always prepared for a walk. Here was a fellow who was treated to at least three walks a day (admittedly just a turn around the block at lunchtime), at relatively irregular intervals, and thus… always, however apparently deep in sleep, prepared with half an ear to listen out for tempting movements throughout the flat. 

            I’m not sure where the desire or the satisfaction came from – perhaps I watched movies where a fellow and his dog jogged through forest trails, perhaps I saw people running with their dogs when I was a young lad, or perhaps there’s something instinctual to it, something intrinsic stretching back primordially to man and dog running across the plains on some dangerous hunt – symbiotic relationship at its fundamental core (excuse the little daydream, but then… anthropology is all about speculating theories…). 

            I think I mentioned Dog was pretty uncontrollable when I first received the reluctant responsibility, and only through a battle of wills, and general exhaustion, did we come to some kind of understanding. When we ran, this interesting, loving but never slavish, relationship truly came into its own… 

            The start of any run would be a mad dash hither and thither… oh, the wild freedom of being off the leash and not restricted to some tepid human somnambulation – for once we were moving as a dog is supposed to move… Imagine for a moment you are a creature built to run, a creature designed to dash here and there exploring smells, noises and interesting movements, and suddenly you are leashed. Forced to tug along this way and that at this awfully restricted speed, unable to reach that tantalising aroma, that cat flickering into the shrubs, that girl screaming in fear of an unknown and particularly frisky canine… That’s what we do to our dogs when we restrict them to the lead, and they still lovingly forgive our transgression. 

            Full to the brim with unbounded energy he would flicker from here to there, snuffling at the light fragrances, sniffing more thoroughly at the more interesting, and therefore by our standards, disgusting, and really snicking his nose into what should never be written about in great depth. 

            After perhaps five minutes of this he would tire a little, and this would be my favourite part of the run. For the next ten or fifteen minutes he would, and this is the word I always relished when I watched the phase… range to the left and right, far in front or dropping back due to something particularly seductive to his attention. This is what I imagined a hunting dog to be… Not a hunting dog in the more traditional sense of the word: either scaring animals from the undergrowth, or waiting patiently to fetch the lead filled duck, but off following his own trails, roaming his own way, but returning to me after a few seconds or even a minute or two. 

            It took a few years to fully trust this… I would worry he would get lost, or worse – stolen, but after a while I became comfortable enough to rarely even spare him a glance as I concentrated on my own thoughts, my own flagging steps, or simply just the interesting things to gaze at on a decent long run (if you have an interesting enough course – you have to feel sorry for people locked into running the suburban streets of a town, or worse some mobbed city centre – as I am at the moment). 

            The last ten to twenty minutes of the run would be a very different story… Unlike his wiser, or at least his less enthusiastic friend, he wouldn’t pace himself, but expend his energy in a magnificent conflagration of delight, so by twenty minutes or so into the run the ranging would be done and he’d just settle into a knacked trot at my heels, conveniently distracted by every smell he could encounter – I knew it an excuse for a little breather! So, by the time we were returning home I’d often be behind him encouraging his pace with paise and encouragement (quite interesting an encouraging tone of voice would have him accelerating for just a little while, huge lolling tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth as he glanced back at me). 

            We ran often, and utilised as many different routes as our current location allowed (we moved fairly often), but a couple of runs bear remembering… 

Near where I lived is a manmade lake called Jinji Lake. You cross the lake over a huge bridge to the north sporting several lanes of traffic and then cut right, to the east of the lake, into a few miles of sculptured gardens running along the lake (this side of the lake is for the rich with their huge luxury flats, their expensive cars, and heaving waistbands – I’m not being biased, they’re simply fat, well, the men at least, the women are usually beautiful, but I have nothing against Darwinism).  

            Dog delighted in these gardens, where he had open access to all the rolling slopes, was free to dig away at the flower beds so carefully planted by people earning about a pound a day, found no restrictions when approaching families enjoying picnics to discover what interesting morsels they had treated themselves to (you never know… the screaming might be an indication they wanted to lavish him with fragrant cooked meats and ice cream…). 

            The sun was bright that day, the sky relatively free of pollutants, at least the visible ones, but the air hadn’t reached the torturous temperatures of late spring or summer. Flowers sparkled with their particular magic… that beauty which reduces and relegates million-pound art to the dribbling finger paintings of kindergarten children. The sky was that blue… you know that blue… you often see it in the winter, early spring or late autumn… the blue that reminds you of cold and clean, that encompasses you in… freedom. A cool breeze cut through the warm sunshine, creating a pleasant sensation as the chill cut into the warm sweat of head and chest. Birds sang, rabbits made friends, squirrels brought each other small packages of nuts, and senile old joggers slurred memory just enough to make nostalgia into perfection (but, you know that blue – I wondered recently if there something primordial about that colour, reaching back to when obscured vision meant danger… the night, fog, heavily overcast days or heavy rain… all something to be feared for what might be lurking, unseen, and that blue, the light blue so many of us love so much, may be the very opposite, something safe, secure… but this is not really the place for such speculations)… 

            To the south of the lake is a series of manmade islands with bridged roads leading from one to another. Upon the picturesque islands are some of the most expensive restaurants in the city, predominately built in the style of ancient China. We were early in the day so these islands were all but deserted. I don’t know how many of you have ever lived in both the country and in one or more of today’s so very many metropolises, but for those of you who know the difference you may agree with how much relief the experience of just being away from all the people brings. People living their lives, coming and going, chatting, driving, beeping horns, riding bikes, buzzing along on scooters, calling to their friends, shouting at frustrations, admonishing crying children, gossiping, people watching every coming and going as they play cards in the shade, and all the other myriad activities life demands of social man. To suddenly be away from all that, in some world suddenly emptied of all that hurry and scurry, that… noise, is such a palpable relief as to be almost indescribable (perhaps in truth like every feeling in our pathetic attempts at communication). So, we took our time, much to Dog’s relief, as we’d been on the road for most of an hour now, and while he was still unusually energetic, he was certainly showing signs he was beginning to wane. I savoured the full experience of running through some post-apocalyptic land, still structured but depopulated of mankind; just for a moment allowing all the pressures of life, all the responsibilities, the timetables, the ‘necessities’ to vanish while soaking in the solitude, not at all intruded upon by having man’s best friend trotting along at my side. 

            Finally, we reached the west side of the lake… This area is for the mortals, those on more modest incomes than the other side of the lake. The west has a wide paved walkway running its entire length. There are lights and fountains in the water and pretty shows every evening for lovers, friends and families to walk beside. Beyond the walkway it’s mostly more spartan gardens with paths winding through the trimmed grass, but for here and there some complex of modern buildings housing bars and more affordable eating establishments. 

            There were more people here, walking, chatting, nibbling at snacks, and generally enjoying whatever free time their daily lives allowed. Here Dog found his second wind… perhaps the attention he received, perhaps, unlike me, and more likely, he simply enjoyed places with more people, he was, after all, an incredibly social animal (much to the annoyance of pretty much anyone he enthusiastically introduced himself to). He started to range here and there again, much to my chagrin as it was now my turn to flag along with heavy steps and leaden legs, and here I captured one of my favourite pictures of the little fellow. There are a series of statues along this part of the lake… mostly the usual nonsense designed to make people feel happy, and to condition them into what the good life should be – a couple skating holding hands, some children in a circle eating ice creams and laughing, that sort of propaganda (perhaps I’m too cynical, but then you haven’t had to edit secondary school books… a story for a different place – I’m doing my very best not to be political, and trust me when I say – that is a task worthy of Heracles himself). 

            One of these statues is of a medium sized running dog. It’s not too bad – the thing is stretched out at if the dog is running at full speed, floppy ears streaming out behind, tail rippling… Dog was momentarily muddled by the thing. From a distance I think he thought it a real dog, and he darted forwards to make his introductions, but as he approached, he became a little confused (there’s no real way of knowing what warned him… perhaps a smell, or its lack, perhaps the unnerving stillness of the beast, but who really knows). He ended up almost creeping up to the thing like some kind of hunting cat, chest all but scraping the ground. Then he had a sniff, looked at me, circled the thing, had another sniff… I was so delighted I pulled out my phone to take a quick snap. I’m not much of a one for taking pictures of moments, believing the taking of the picture destroys the moment (a decision I find I’m possibly regretting in my older years as my memory fails me on so many of the places, experiences, and friends I’ve had in the many countries I’ve lived in). 

            My timing was both just off and perfect… I missed the opportunity to catch the strange look of wary confusion and interest, but I did catch him deciding the thing wasn’t worth his attention as something more lively caught his eye. I, through pure luck, which is pretty much everything in this life – don’t deceive yourselves those of you with ‘plans’ – I caught him in full run just passing the stone replica. The final product shows Dog racing against this untiring gargoyle and just winning by a nose (I’m hoping to dig up some of my preferred pictures of my mutt and include them in this post so you might just get to see the randomly splendid moment)!  

            We finally returned home to our traditional ice-cold melon shared in the kitchen, a great consumption of water, and, in his case, panting away twenty minutes or so upon the huge, chill tiles of the well-insulated old house. 

            There is one more short running story I would like to share before I call this chapter a day… 

Mid-summer, so forty degrees or so, and one hundred percent humidity – I decide to go for a run and invite Dog to come with me. Within ten minutes his exuberance has been severely curtailed. For the last five minutes he’s been dropping further and further back until when I look, he’s about a hundred meters behind and simply sitting watching me run away (admittedly he was running in those conditions wearing a fur coat – so he didn’t want to go fur… ha! Sorry…). I call for him to continue and he looks back the way we have come, then looks back at me again – the message is clear. I shout more aggressively, but he’s having none of it… Once again, he looks back towards home… I roar for him to obey (much to the general terror of any locals in the vicinity), and he utterly ignores me and starts to trot home (considerably faster than he’d been dragging his exhausted feet a few minutes ago – should have been nominated for an award for that performance). I have little choice but to chase after him, and as I close the gap Dog, unlikely fearful of me, but more likely concerned he’ll have to continue the run, picks up his pace, until the two of us… me shouting and waving my arms, him casting furtive glances over his shoulder, are running faster than we normally would in far more temperate conditions. Until… he hits a road… We don’t have many rules, he and I, mostly as long as we’re not causing too much trouble, we can pretty much get on with whatever takes our fancy, but as he’s so excitable, and so very… interested in things, he has one definite unwavering rule – he can’t cross the road without me (drivers in China wouldn’t stop, they’d probably not even notice while chatting on their phone and eating instant noodles as they drive – no, I’m not exaggerating…), and then he has to heel until I give the word. So, he gets to that wretched road separating him from the shady delight of home, and simply sits down and waits. By the time I reach him my worry and anger have evaporated and I’m just laughing at his consternated expression. He looks up at me, and I’d swear on a human that would have been ‘irritated dismay’, but then I’m a pure anthropomorphic at heart so… Well, he won – we went home!