Wolf Pack

Nicholai, Izzy, and I walked familiar trails to the Sandy and Columbia Rivers early today. Our hike was brisk, but not over-exuberant or over-long. Though Nicholai is well, and sings to me – loudly – each morning of his interest in an adventure, I feel the need to enact some limits on his exertion, and so we trekked for only forty minutes in the morning sunshine.

With Nicholai I feel safe, even though we walk in semi-remote areas. I don't know that I am safe, but with my big black dog at my side, I feel protected, and even a bit dangerous. After years of running trails alone, and of walking with smaller, cuter dogs, the new sensation is palpable and invigorating. I am part of a wolf-pack.

Nicholai will protect me – I know this from experience. I also know there is a limit to what he can protect me from. The feeling of strength I have when out with him – the feeling of being a formidable duo – is internal, but it changes me. When I'm out with Nicholai, I don't look over my shoulder – except for the occasional cyclist, whom I fear he might try to eat. My internal landscape becomes one of confidence. When I watch out for others, it's not because of the danger they might be to me, but the danger we might be to them.

Nicholai and I work well together. At my request to "Wait," he stands still while I clip a leash to his collar so we can easily pass a cyclist or other potentially suspicious interloper in our territory. When we are out and about, we aren't just dog and owner, or dog and "mom", we're partners in adventure. When the Hound of the Baskervilles no longer travels at my side, it will leave a big gap indeed.