Still Good Running

My brother and his wife recently drove up from Philadelphia in the “Silver Shark”—a 1986 Honda Accord hatchback they inherited from our grandmother. My brother, who fancies himself a race car driver, bobbed and weaved through traffic, and eventually caught the attention of (i.e. cut off) a cab driver. They both pulled up to a red light, and the cabbie honked and motioned for him to roll down his window. But instead of flipping the bird, he shouted, “Hey man, what year is this car?”

“Nineteen eighty-six.”

“And it’s still good running?” the cabbie asked, in broken English.

“Yup.”

The cabbie grinned and nodded. “I like this car,” he replied, and sped off.

This morning, I woke with a burst of energy and was out the door slightly before 8 AM, with home-brewed coffee in my Campmor mug and Chewie in tow. We took a lap around the lower part of the park, then settled in by the bandshell, where a large group of dogs had gathered. Hoping to get her moving, I found a good-sized stick in the woodchips and threw it a few times. Usually this is an unsuccessful ruse, but all of a sudden, Chewie woke up.

She sprinted off at full speed, doing laps around a large, surprised Sheepdog. She bounced behind another mutt, nipping and growling. She grabbed the stick in her mouth and tossed it with a wild look in her eyes. Once the other dogs caught on, Chewie tucked her tail in for an extra boost of power, and ran like a maniac throughout the crowd. No one could catch her. I heard, “Wow, look at her go!” and, “She’s like a little running back!”

The action lasted only a few minutes but my heart swelled with pride. This little girl might be grumpy, gray, increasingly anti-social and almost seven years old, but she is definitely still good running.