BWare

Late of an evening, one of the last runs of the summer for the dogs, though not for me. I like summer evenings. Cool, but I’m warm from the day, and old injuries stay old.

Fading light, heading down into the arroyo, no one else to be seen for the entire distance. A coyote stands across the middle of the trail. Milo pulls, not like he would if it was a dog. Hunting; not greeting. The coyote looks at us, steps off the trail. Calm. We run past, without breaking stride. I look back. Coyote is in the middle of the trail, watching us go.

Half an hour later, almost dark, he’s nowhere to be seen. Milo casts, tracking scent.

Mornings are still cool now, but it’s too warm for snow dogs to pull long distances. Next run for Alex will be in the fall. Milo is young, he’ll get to start again sooner.