I ran with a greyhound Thursday night. Not like -- with. And not singular, but plural. One, two, three. But thankfully, I only held the leash of two at the most, one at the speediest.
My running buddy and his wife adopted two of last night's running team a year ago from Greyhound Adoption League of Texas (a.k.a. GALT).
The other, Chick, the curly-eared cutie you see here, is one of their two foster hounds.
As we all ran at what I considered to be a decent speed, Chick (yawn) barely broke out of a trot. When she or one of the other two did let loose, it was a beautiful thing to see. We forgot our own panting to watch their gentle breaths as they loped ahead of us.
It was a night with the slightest of stars and the mildest of breezes. And there we were, lucky to be leash-holding spectators, mesmerized by these beautiful canine creations moving with such ease, and with such God-given grace.
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