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Mom had found me another in-poochson race that we could run this weekend. It is rare to find both trails and a race director which are both open minded about dogs, and Mom had found the winning combination: a trail half marathon in San Jose! But then the race director contacted Mom on Wednesday to let her know that because there was a storm blowing through, the park rangers had revoked the race permit. Who do these rangers think we are? A bunch of Wicked Witches of the West whose beautiful wickedness will dissolve into a steaming puddle if we get wet?!

Mom said that if we waited until the weather was decent again, we wouldn’t get to run again until March. So we got on our broom and flew to the trails anyway. There would be no flocks of runners today, just a single witch and his flying monkey (of COURSE *Mom* would be cast as the flying monkey!).

The ground was really sloppy, and Mom made a lot of those weird noises she makes to let me know she’s about to fall on top of me. Maybe that’s why she let me off leash and then let me stay off leash on the way back down, which she’s never done before. There were all kinds of new smells and sounds to check out in the rain. I kept looking for an undiscovered water fall that I kept hearing nearby. It wasn’t until later that Mom explained that that was the sound of the wind blowing over the ridge. I also heard the sound of a creaky door, or a giant stepping on a creaky step. That one kind of scared me. Even though Mom insisted that it was just a tree bending in the wind, I did notice she hustled through that section until we couldn’t hear the giant anymore. There are always new fallen trees to jump over on the trail, and I didn’t want to get squashed like a witch with a house falling on his head.

Incredibly, we did not melt in the rain. We got back to the broom not much more filthy and soaked than we would have been normally. Silly rangers….

-Oscar the Pooch

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