The track dog

A couple of kilometres up the road from our house is the Saratok running track.  Three or four years old I am told and a really nice and well-drained surface, essential in this climate.  People go there in the morning and the evening when it is cool enough to run or walk round the track.  I am now a regular a few times a week. Sometimes there are thirty or forty people of various ages making their way round at varied speeds from a slow stroll to a fairly gentle trot.  Sometimes, for reasons I haven't yet worked out there is just me ... and the dog.

The dog likes to keep an eye on what is going down at the track and likes to go for a snooze in one of the straights, usually in lane two.  Sometimes he raises an eyelid as I stagger past, panting and bathed in sweat.  Sometimes we exchange a glance which may or may not mean anything to either of us.

Normally I do ten kilometres during which time the dog will shift his behind a couple of times and maybe give his crotch a disinterested sniff and perhaps a lick.  By about kilometre eight the dog often seems to get bored and trots slowly away in the direction of the main road which he walks down oblivious of the traffic.  When it rains he disappears altogether.

I think the dog understands this climate better than I do.