Dagan’s dog dance

Loping along, light brown or rust hued with a white underbelly, tall with fierce eyes and the forced “grin” of the canine companion. Now, the grin looks like the impudent pup is laughing at her owners yelling for her a few dozen yards back. Not in a particular rush, both Jen and I on our easy run and the eloping dog seem at ease. But now that I see her, and with a flash to social duty, expecting my neighbors to do the same if my dogs were loose, a small chase is ensued. Not one of top speed but of calculated bursts and precise angles. She moves in response to me, so I guess I lead our chase but somehow I am always following her. Cutting between yards and cornering her in the meeting places of fences yet still she runs away on all fours. Five minutes into our sauntering salsa, I zig, she zags and I catch a look in her eyes; now I know the truth. Damn dog dancing away is having the best of me and the best of times.