On the way into work one morning I passed a black dog running, heading out the country road, looking I suppose for its owner.
The dog peered into the car as I passed as if trying to gauge the familiarity of my face. I was worried. A black dog running however fleet is no match for an automobile. The owner is probably long gone and far away, while the dog, racing down the road after a faint scent fast disappearing, is going to get lost. I could see in my minds eye in a week’s time, a poster written in a child’s hand, put up at the local country store. LOST BLACK DOG.
I thought about stopping to see if it would get in the car and then trying to find its home or owner. But it seemed like a hopeless task. There was no collar around the dog and I wondered if perhaps it had lost it while breaking loose from a chain. So the dog was free to race after its owner on a work day, but so quick to becoming lost.
Sometimes, I feel like that black dog running, in search of something I can’t quite name. It makes me wonder about the faint line between freedom and loss. The race for something to satisfy can feel so free, but in the end I wonder if all I am doing is running to becoming lost.
(Originally posted here 2007)