Reading Pacepusher's blog where he took his dog Harvey for a walk and lost him, reminds me of my recent outing with Millies where they considered me lost but I considered they meant missing.
Two stories come to mind; My wife's grandfather apparently asked his father if something is lost if you know where it is. "Of course not!" said father. "That's all right then, if you're looking for your anchor it's at the bottom of Loch Fyne."
The other relates to my own dog, Cher, who was left at my in-laws whilst we were on holiday a number of years ago. Cher is a German Shepherd, now sadly getting stiff and old (they do say the dog and the master get to be like each other - I'll say it first!)but then was a sprightly year old dog who, when my in laws were out, managed to get through a slightly opened window that should have been too hard to reach! On their return said in-laws searched high and low for her, and my brother-in-laws family were also out looking. As my in-laws stay on the A82 and beside farmland they were convinced that she had been hit by a car or, worse, shot by a farmer. 36 hours later my brother-in-law heard a dog bark and looked out to see Cher sitting on their doorstep. She had been at their house once before, although she had contact with his family on a regular basis, and had never been walked there from my in-laws. How she got from one house to the other, right to the doorstep, is uncanny. I'm sure she inherits it from me. The number of times I made it home from the pub, when the laws of nature and physics say I should be lying in a ditch sound asleep, was amazing.
Anway, enough doggy tales. Last night I went along to the club for a 12 miler, having failed to get out in the morning. I really wanted an easy run so tucked in at the back of a pack of six. However, I kept running into the back of Richard and Jimmy and as we crossed a junction at the Vale Hospital, moved to the front for a blether with Geraldine. Brian moved to the front too, and the two of us were left alone at Lomond Shores. I told Brian I was looking for a slow run, and he said he was tired after a long run on Monday which, combined with his shifts had left him feeling fatigued. Twice we slowed right down to allow the others to catch up, but by the time we had reached the top of a loop through Mollanbowie, they were no longer behind us. We cracked on, onto the Horseshoe and both of us, usually at different times unfortunately, felt strong and the pace got faster. A couple of truces were called but made no difference, as it soon picked up again. Strangely, we didn't pass a single car on the Horseshoe, which was a blessing as neither of us had a headlamp, relying on natural light to get us round. No time noted, as neither of us had looked at a watch when we left the club, but exertion wise it was 8 out of 10 with the odd hill topping that. It's funny how the good runs come when you least expect them!