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Dogs in the Dark
By Don Staheli
It's
hard to get through life without being barked at.
For a number of years I jogged the roads, trails, and tracks wherever
we lived. My favorite time to be out was early in the morning, preferably
while it was still dark. The dark seems to allow for a better internal
focus of the senses. The time I have spent, often alone, drifting
along at a reasonable pace, has given me an opportunity to ponder
on everything from the planned events of the day to the deeper matters
of the here and the hereafter.
One day at an inviting pre-dawn hour
I took advantage of the chance to jog down the isolated country
road that wound through the fields surrounding the lodgings I had
taken while away on a business trip. The air was crisp and clear.
There was just enough moon left to cast a mild glow on the path,
but plenty of dark to enfold me in the comforting cloak of the waning
night.
As I padded along, feet well cushioned
by thick layers of rubber and shoe-foam, I was comfortable and happy.
A few early birds were singing a morning song. Here and there were
the scurrying sounds of a night-mouse who hadn't yet called it a
night. And then, way off in the distance, I caught the sound of
barking farm dogs troubled by something unknown and probably disturbing
their owners at this sleepy hour. I paid no attention to them and
continued down the road.
The barking kept up and seemed to be
getting a little louder, but it was still of no particular concern
to me as I jogged along. At least, it wasn't until it became obvious
that the barking of these dogs was coming toward me, ever closer
and with what seemed to be a hostile tone. Suddenly the pack appeared
in the distance on the road, heading quickly in my direction. This
very unnerving sight, coupled with ominous baying and barking, caused
a panic to rise in me. A pack of dogs can be vicious, and there
was no place to hide, no tree to climb, nothing with which to protect
myself.
I was a good mile from the safe haven
of my room, so outrunning the dogs was not remotely possible. There
didn't seem to be a thing I could do.
Then fear gave way to anger in some
seldom-needed mechanism of self-defense. Since flight was not possible,
I felt a surging of the instinct to fight. I had no stick or other
weapon, nothing to swing, shoot or throw. But there welled up from
very deep inside me, gathered in my throat, and burst from my mouth
an exclamation somewhere between a shout and a scream. I held my
ground, squared my shoulders, and yelled at the onrushing pack,
"Go home!"
Immediately,the
half-dozen canines came to a halt on the pavement. They milled about
for a moment in what seemed to be confusion, so I tried to clear
things up for them by bellowing again, "Go home!"
Slowly the pack turned and, amazingly,
without another sound, trotted back into the darkness. I supposed
they were going home, so I decided to do the same. My departure
(or shall we say escape!) was more like a sprint than a jog. A ways
down the road I was able to relax, but I couldn't help a glance
or two back over my shoulder.
All of us are bound to encounter some
dogs in the night. As we move through life, it is likely that the
beauty and tranquility of some lovely experience will be disrupted
by the behavior of those who would bare their fangs at our passing.
We may pose no real threat, simply wanting to go quietly by, but
there will be people at work, in school, or perhaps even of our
own family who come at us alone or in a pack with the intention
of frightening us or causing pain.
Some do so out of fear of our encroachment.
They have been hurt before and want to keep us and others at bay.
Some may sense from us competition for their space or may want the
place we occupy. Some very few people act in a way that is unreasonable
and just plain mean.
When this happens, a dignified retreat
is usually the best answer. Just take a different track and leave
well enough alone. When that is not possible, when they keep coming
and demand a confrontation, stand your ground, square up, and, with
all the power you can muster, send them back where they came from.
Tell such people to "go home"
and leave you alone.
When they see that you are no longer
afraid, that you are willing to confront their cowardly onslaught,
they will likely give up the hunt and go find easier prey.
Someday they may be less aggressive,
and you may be able to make peace. Until then, do not be afraid
to be active. Do not miss out on the opportunities of life for fear
of those who would bully you or cause you dismay.
The morning after the less-than-pleasant
meeting with the dogs, I went jogging again. It was great.
Principle:
Tell the barking dogs in your life to "go home" and leave
you alone.
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© 2006 Meridian
Magazine. All Rights Reserved.
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