endtroducing.

My four-legged friend is gone and while I knew that day would come, I didn't expect it to arrive so soon.

Lindsay and I saw Lego in the Lancaseter Sunday News one early morning in the Spring of 2006.  Before finishing the rest of that newspaper, we jumped in the car and headed to the Humane League.  We loved him as soon as we saw him in black and white and that much more in the full color of real life.

He caught a ride home with us and settled into our apartment as though he'd lived there the entire 6 months of his life.  A suspected Boxer/Blue Heeler mix, Clouseau (as we dubbed him) was an odd looking duck and good-naturedly endured puzzled looks and questions like "is that a dingo?".  He was unfazed and more often than not won over the doubters with his big heart.

He didn't stand very tall and eventually topped the scales at just 55 pounds, but every ounce was muscle that was thankfully never used for anything more than chasing sticks and swimming like a peculiar surface-skimming fish.

Lily arrived less than a year into his residency and we feared how he'd react to the shared spotlight.  Our fears were unwarranted as he proved a gentle, doting chaperon who rarely strayed from the baby's side.

This diligence continued even after we left the city and moved into a home with more room for Clouseau to sprawl.

First Lily and then Piper loved him and likely never considered life without him.  Now and again Lindsay or I would comment on how strange it was to realize that Clouseau would likely not live to see the girls into their teens, never entertaining the idea that he'd not even see them get on a school bus.

This April Clouseau began having accidents despite having been housebroken from before we'd adopted him.  At first, I thought he was at last demanding the attention lost from sharing the home with two small children.  I was wrong.

I finally broke down and took him to the veterinarian by then assuming confirmation of a bladder infection or, at worst, kidney stones.  When we learned that Clouseau had advanced lymphoma and had little time remaining, we were absolutely stunned.  Stunned and heartbroken.

Not knowing how much time we had left together, we did what we've always done,  we took Clouseau hiking and swimming.

We threw sticks, we laughed, the girls squealed.  But even little Piper seemed to pick-up on our melancholy.

It was a lovely, bittersweet day and it wasn't the last.  We were granted another couple of months with our beloved dog.  By early June, however, it became apparent that life was becoming more of a struggle and we'd agreed to not extend his suffering out of a selfish want to have him here with us.

The family shared goodbyes.

I loaded him into the van and we headed to the vet.  He took his normal post at the passenger seat window, nosing the full blast of the passing air.  He leaned so far forward it appeared he was trying to beat me to our destination.

In the waiting room he perked his ears and absorbed all the yips from the bowels of the building and sniffed all the comings and goings.  He didn't tug on his leash, however, laying at my feet and leaning against my leg.  I knew I wouldn't feel him there again and cherished the contact.

We never made Clouseau wear his collar at home and I'd hated putting it on him for this trip.  Having removed it for the last time, I put it back in its usual place upon returning home.

On the other side of the room sat Clouseau's bowls and I couldn't bring myself to put them away.

Lindsay and I have always been very straightforward with the children and both girls knew that Clouseau had been sick and wasn't going to get better.  Still they struggled to understand that he was truly gone.  Both Lily and Piper seemed to take the news rather calmly, but when I put Lil to bed that evening, she and I shared a good, hard cry.

Once the two of us had composed ourselves, Lily said so sweetly to me that she just wished Clouseau would've stayed a little longer.

Me too, Lil.  Me too.

last call.

The final daylight hours of the last day of the year were slipping away.  My had arrived to watch the girls while I snuck out onto the Horseshoe Trail for one final run in 2010.  I was moments from stepping out the door when Clouseau misunderstood Veterinarian Lily's waving of a tongue depressor with a too meek "say ahhh" command and ended up giving her a pretty scary double swipe to the face that barely missed delivering damage to her right eye.  I'd eventually soother her with two calming (though thankfully unnecessary) band-aids and gotten her to agree to my departing.

Pulling into the trailhead parking lot just off of Route 72 South, I glanced at the dashboard clock and realized that I had two hours of light left and I'd forgotten to pack a headlamp.  No time to waste, I fired up the GPS and headed up the abandoned but paved road on the far side of the gate and hoped that the yellow blazes would soon deposit me on unimproved terrain.  Nearly half a mile later I got my wish.

The next few miles wound through Governor Dick park lands on a path that wavered between technical and smoothed-over single track that allowed me to move briskly.  I passed a number of small access points that harbored parked cars but I never did see the people who had piloted the vehicles there.  Not that I minded.

Other than pondering Lily's near miss, I'm not sure my mind was terribly active with anything other than taking in the unseasonably mild weather, the rhythmic crunching of my feet and the periodic called complaints of woodland birds as I clambered by.  In other words, I was enjoying myself.

Crossing Pinch Road and entering into PA state game lands, the single track gave way to overgrown abandoned logging and fire roads, open meadows and woods-ringed farming tracts.  While not technical in the least, this portion of the run was a blast as I could push the tempo a bit without worrying about each footfall.

Reaching what turned out to be Colebrook Road, I peeked at my wrist and discovered that I'd traveled nearly 6.5 miles.  The sun was definitely riding low on the horizon but I decided to cross Colebrook and go far enough to ensure that I'd have covered half-marathon distance by the time I got back to the car.  I wasn't sure what time it was but I knew I'd need to maintain pace to finish with any light remaining.

On the return trip I was overcome with gratitude for the luxury of health and support at home that was enabling me to do what I was doing.  The shoes I was wearing had been Christmas gifts as was the camera I was carrying.  My boss had been generous enough to give all his employees the day off and my aunt had been kind enough to tend to her nieces so I could spend the time I was spending in the woods.  I silently thanked all involved and vowed to pass along my appreciation at each available opportunity.

Minutes passed swiftly and, relative to the limits of my abilities, so did the miles. I arrived back at the trailhead with a few moments of light to spare.

As far as running was concerned, the year was over.  Proof that it had been a good year, I would be able to step into 2011 injury-free.  I undid the laces on my shoes and grinned at the realization that I'd be lacing them right back up again in the morning.

Thanks.

the next day.

Whether you buy into the hype or not, Christmas seems to demand attention even before the Thanksgiving plates and utensils have made it to the drying rack.  From there the anticipation builds and builds (especially if you have children) until there's no possibility that the day can live up to its billing.

And just like that, even if it did prove a lovely occasion (and, thankfully, this year it did), it's gone again.

Falling as it did this year on a Saturday, the holiday was kind enough to deliver another day of rest before kicking us back to the curb that is the work week (unless you're my wife who headed immediately back to the "office").

Knowing that Lindsay would be leaving for her shift at the hospital in the early afternoon, I had set the alarm for just before 5:30 AM to make sure I got in my miles without disrupting her day.  I'd received a pair of New Balance MT101's from my sister the day before and had excused myself for an hour to put them immediately to the test.  They'd seemed, right out of the box, like familiar friends and I was eager to see how the felt on a return trip.

I met up with Jefferson just prior to 6:00 and we did our customary catching up while stretching, tying laces, donning headlamps, letting the GPS locate a satellite and such.  Between my wanting to get back in a timely fashion and Jeff's careful monitoring of a yet to be fully diagnosed leg issue, we decided to just do one small segment of the criss-crossing sections of trail that overlap with the Horseshoe Trail, Camp Mack and the surrounding state game lands.

In a little less than an hour, we'd put in just under 4.5 miles, including a couple of challenging climbs and some speedy downhills.  I'd been a bit tentative because of having switched to a more compact headlamp and immediately missing the brightness and sharpness of my usual light.  Otherwise, I felt great and was further convinced that I'd found a minimalist shoe that almost perfectly mirrored my foot.

I arrived home just as Lily emerged from her bedroom, rubbing the last of the sleep from her big blue eyes and affixing her customary rise-and-shine grin.  We agreed to spend the whole day in PJ's and I tucked her into the couch, turned on Thomas the Tank Engine and hurried off for a shower.

As I stepped out of the shower, I heard Piper Bea singing softly to herself from her bedroom.  She was surprisingly chipper for one who does not normally take kindly to the arrival of morning.  I changed her diaper and clued her in on the lounge-about plans.

Naptime arrived in what felt like mere minutes.  We'd read countless books, test-driven a bevy of new toys, hounded the dog and even played demolition derby with a pair of unsuspecting baby strollers.  I received no protests as I placed Pipe in her crib and ushered big sister Lily to her room for her "rest".  Lindsay was still sound asleep and, seeing no need to sabotage her slumber, I settled into the couch for a nap of my very own.  I do not remember the last time I dared such a luxury and it was exquisite.

I roused the girls and remembered (how could I forget?!?) the camera I'd been given the day before.  While I hardly qualify as a "photographer", I do enjoy taking pictures and had endured a painful stretch after dropping and breaking my camera back on Halloween.  My mother, who had originally gifted me that camera and witnessed first-hand its destruction, was kind enough to give me a model that was its specific update, sparing me my normal agonizing learning curve upon acquiring a new camera.

Piper, refusing to part with a new companion, was placed in her high chair.  Click.

Lily joined me in enjoying a bowl of soup.  Click.

Soup can be messy and tubby time wasn't far behind.  Another photo op.

A return to pajamas found us waving goodbye to Mom and hoping that impending weather wouldn't leave her stranded at work overnight.  After she was gone, we played and played.  We watched birds at the feeders, oohed at the falling snow and played some more.  The day, a rare specimen that saw little bickering between my two spirited daughters, passed swiftly.

After putting Piper down for the night and singing songs and reading a few last books to Lil, I discovered that Clouseau had also decided to turn in.

Which left me, still in my pajama bottoms and slippers, to decide what to do with the rest of my evening.  So here I sit, with my legs kicked up, a tall glass of ginger ale, a newly warmed slice of apple pie (Mom's recipe, my execution) researching the reported update to the aforementioned MT101 and hoping that New Balance doesn't undue perfection.

Even if they do, it's just a shoe.  And they can't take away this perfect day.