They stopped flowing halfway between the doghouse and me.
They dropped their heads at almost exactly the same time. Synchronized menacing. I could see the outlines of their shoulder blades. Their eyes were a spooky light blue.
For a moment—and I could not have told you how long a moment—we just stood frozen, staring at each other.
I had a flash of a memory.
When I was very little, maybe five, my dad and I were walking along our street at dusk and saw two neighborhood dogs circling to fight. They looked into each other’s eyes and never broke off that direct gaze. My father told me that the first dog who looked away would be attacked by the other. It was a sign of submission to look away. Plus it gave the enemy an opening.
For another eternity that might have been only a second, I held their terrifying gazes.
Then I turned and ran like my life depended on it. Because I figured it probably did. It was the wrong move and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself. It had been utterly instinctive.
Now my gut was filled with the sickening realization that I could not possibly outrun them. They would catch me, and . . . I had no firm idea, and I couldn’t bring myself to imagine. But of course I did know the kinds of things dogs tended to do.
I put on a burst of speed.
I could hear them right behind me. Not even a full step behind me. Once, I saw one of the heads in my peripheral vision as a dog drew even with me. Why he hadn’t taken the opportunity to bite, I didn’t know. I didn’t know anything in that moment. The panic had flipped a switch in my brain to off.
I just kept running.
My only hope was that they would be satisfied when I got far enough away from their property, and would turn for home.
Still I heard their paws crashing in the brush just a step behind me, no matter how far and fast I ran. My chest began to catch fire. I developed a stitch in my side, but I didn’t dare stop running.
I have no idea how long I ran that way. At least half a mile. It might even have been more. Time played tricks on my brain.
Then the whole thing came to a crashing halt.
I caught the toe of my sneaker on a root.
I flew forward, still trying to rebalance myself. But the root was still holding my toe back behind me, so there was no way to recover. I slammed onto my belly on a bed of old leaves and pine needles, scratching the heels of my hands as I tried to brace my fall.
It was over. I felt lifted outside my body by the fear. Disconnected from myself. I honestly thought it might be the end for me. I covered my head with my arms and waited for them to do their worst.
And waited.
And waited.
Finally I peered out from under my arms. I had to know.
I saw one dog clearly. His mouth was open, long tongue curled out and dripping. It bounced as he panted. It looked almost as though he was smiling.
I sat up and looked at both dogs, one after the other. Each returned a faint tail wag.
“What the hell?” I asked out loud.
I dropped onto my back. Stared up through the trees for a moment at a perfect cloudless blue sky, absorbing the new reality that I was not about to die.
Then I sat up and looked at the dogs again.
The larger one made a move that I could only interpret as an invitation. He bounded two steps, bouncing much higher than necessary, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at me with that same lolling-tongued grin.
The message was strikingly clear: I’ll run more if you will.
I took a few minutes, just sitting on the ground like that, to get over feeling incredibly stupid. To adjust my reality completely from my assumption that they were dangerous dogs to the simple truth that they had never meant any harm to anyone—that being huge didn’t automatically make them killers.
I got to my feet and ran again, back toward their home. But it was different this time. It was exhilarating.
I paced myself, but I was still fast. Frankly, I was amazed how fast. I honestly hadn’t known I could run like that. Now suddenly I couldn’t imagine how the talent could have escaped me, lived so dormant in me for so long. I’d also had no idea how much of the turmoil inside me running could solve.
I put on bursts of speed, then smoothed out, then put on the gas again. I placed my feet as if I were running through a giant game of chess, always strategizing three or four moves ahead. The dogs ran one behind me, one in front where I could see him. Now and then he turned his head and glanced over his shoulder at me, his light blue eyes gleaming. He was having so much fun that he had to check and make sure I was, too.
And, oh, I was having fun!
I felt free for the first time in as long as I could remember. Everything that had weighed me down every day of my life seemed to have been put behind me. I had left it all in the dirt. I was too fast for my troubles. The crap of my life was eating my dust for the first time ever. I felt light, as though running could turn into flying. Then I felt as though I was flying, despite the fact that my feet never stopped hitting down.
When the cabin
