A few mornings a week, I run. Although on the weekends I often drive to a path along the lava cliffs that flank the sea, my more usual route begins and ends at my house with a meander through multiple streets of the neighborhood designing the middle stretch. Many of the homes I pass have dogs, on good days all restrained by fencing or chains. Because, you see, my lope--which is certainly no longer a dash and might be heading toward an amble--seems to excite them. They bolt to the fence, or as far as a tether allows, and acknowledge me with boisterous barking. Most, I think, would just like to join me in my romp, but some are definitely engaged in defense of property.
I am pretty committed to my established neighborhood route and rarely change it up except to extend its range when I am more physically in tune. For three years I could count my scary encounters with loose dogs on one hand...until this summer. One fateful morning I had to fend off three separate skirmishes with loose dogs, dogs that actually touched me with their muzzle and/or rolled against my legs with their haunches.
And that did it. Friends have long admonished me to carry a stick or pepper spray when I run, but I rationalized that I really have always been okay when I run despite the occasional loose dog, and I have zero interest in hurting a dog. But dogs willing to threaten me by touching me with their bodies provided the required impetus to inquire about pepper spray at my next visit to Ace Hardware.
The clerk at Ace Hardware pointed and said, "Right there." And who knew that on that day all pepper spray containers on offer sparkled, so I embraced the glitter and bought three.
Now, and since September, I run my neighborhood route with one jazzy canister of pepper spray in hand, and I have learned a few more things. Yes, how to deploy the aerosol from the canister and direct the spray itself is one thing. And, yes, I practiced in my backyard beforehand. But guess what else I have learned? Two of the dogs from those skirmishes dating back to "the fateful day" have been loose again during my runs. In both cases, the dogs executed an abrupt about-face just as soon as I enacted the motions involved in spraying a peppery aerosol. Actually releasing the substance never even had to happen to instigate their retreat. They already knew what I held in hand and what I planned to do with it! Apparently, I'm not the only one carrying pepper spray in the neighborhood.
And there you have it. These days my running gear includes bedazzled weaponry.
