Flight or Fight

 

November 30, 2020

 Greetings from the reveal,

 There is a moment where thought is suspended, sometimes it stretches into a few seconds, and instead there is only primal response.  It is a unique thing in this civilized life; you know it when it happens to you.

 I was running down a road I know so well I can tell you I was a few breaths from one mile since I left my driveway.  I know the branches of the trees, the spaces between them, know there will be turkeys or deer in the field coming up, know the soft warble of the little creek as it makes rhymes in the rocks, delighted at its own poetry.   And so, what I heard next, something menacing and foreign, not even knowing its source, lit something up inside me.

 Somewhere in my memory is an inventory of what the body goes through when confronted with acute stress, and it doesn’t ask permission.  Pupils dilate, pulse spikes, breathing expands, adrenaline courses into the body, muscles twitch in anticipation.  A bolt of lightning surges through you before you can think about what your reaction is.

 For years I ran down one of many dirt roads that frame the farms west of where I live, part of my favorite loops through that open land.  In one stretch, seven miles from finishing, I would stop to pick up rocks, knowing I would be confronted with a dog on that road.  He was vicious and relentless, sometimes blocked the road, snapping at me.  Only once did he get close enough to bite my winter tights.  I would shout at him, shout at the house he protected, pelt him with rocks as I ran.  When I finally reached the place he would stop chasing, which changed from day to day, I would be shaking and breathless.

 I would run along, muttering, assembling legal teams, composing strongly worded letters, creating revenge strategies, all of which dissolve by the time I had run another mile.  And then some days would pass, and I would be out there again, collecting stones to protect myself, like a modern-day David.

 People would ask me “Why don’t you run a different way?” which is reasonable.  My response, always in my head, sounds pitiful and mewling, describing my privileges as a human being, versus the inalienable rights of a dog to be a dog.  Eventually I stopped running down that road.  The dog, if it is normal, it will fulfill its lifespan and I will restore my reign.  King David.

 I don’t dislike dogs.  Growing up, my family had dogs, usually the kind that didn’t chase anything, like Patches.  There was Duffy, who bit someone which led to Duffy II, who eventually bit me, which ended that series.  I lived with Max here in his house, in a seventeen-year detente, which I think demonstrates some level of tolerance, if not empathy.

The dogs on the sides of the roads where I run are not my pets, or pets of friends.  The are just animals whose threat has yet to be determined.  Some are pit bulls, chained to a stake, surrounded by ravaged turf, their purpose obvious.  Most are some version of Any Dog; they may bark and wag their tail, or growl and lunge, or run with you just for fun.  Until you see them come at you, you won’t know.

 But on this day, dogs were the furthest from my mind.  I know these houses, a few of the people in them, and there are no threats, and so I scuffed along, still warming up in the crisp morning.  My mind wandered to little memories, ideas I wanted to think about.

 They made almost no sound, except the growling breath, and the noise of their paws on the grass.  They were the size of coyotes, their short coats bristling, rippling with muscle as they charged toward me.  I don’t know breeds, I don’t know personalities, I only know these dogs were racing at me, not barking, ears back, teeth bared.  In a few seconds it took for them to reach the road I knew I couldn’t outrun them.  They were not from this street, were not wearing collars, they were not going to stop at the edge of the grass, trained to honor some neighborhood pact.

 The first dog reached me and jumped up at my waist, and I tried to swipe at its head and pushed it off a few feet away.  The second dog skidded to a stop and snarled and barked just out of reach.  The first dog joined him, both of them dancing and snapping, their hackles up.

 I’ve read what you are supposed to do when charged by a dog, or a bear, or a moose.  None of that registered in that moment.  All I had was the primal response, built into me before I was born, designed for my survival.  For some reason, even as it happened, I was thinking of that wild, ancient reaction. Even as these two animals tested my defensive reflexes.

 A young man came into the yard, shouted at the dogs, pretentious names I wanted to remember but lost them, something like ‘Brisbane’ and ‘Quinoa’.  The dogs didn’t respond, ran around me a few more times, still snapping at me while he looked on, saying nothing, and then they raced off around the house out of sight.  I waited a half a beat to see if he would offer something like an apology, and then ran on without it.

 Before I tell you what matters, I will confess this makes me angry, one of only a few things on a shrinking list of things that do.  Dogs who are left recklessly to do harm, or to be hurt.  I know it’s a reality of life, but so too is my anger.

 A mile later I was my runner self again, and it dawned on me what was remarkable about the encounter with the dogs.  It was the flight/fight reaction that emerged and took command, overwhelming the cognitive reply.  It is described as a ‘stress’, but it is also a dramatic proof of we are alive, and of the amazing intricacies built into us by our Creator. 

 In some ways this is a cousin to laughter and tears, to sneezing, to passion.  It is kin to the feeling of awe, of fear, of love, of curiosity.  These human responses, along with all of the automatic things in our minds and bodies that make us possible, completely hidden from our consciousness, are an expression of us, and who made us.

 Senses are heightened and we can hear everything and feel our own skin, and know the cold in our pores and feel the blood surge in our veins, and world comes at us in a brilliance so sharp it shakes the word ‘mundane’ from our vocabulary.

 I have to tell you, this delights me.  What I came home with Friday morning was not the bitter resentment of dogs, but a renewed appreciation for what we are, and what we are capable of.  Even more, I found myself filled with wonder, which is far more liberating than anger.

 Hope this finds you startled,

 

David