Karma and the ride home

I have a Golden Retriever, Sachi. Like all Goldens, Sachi's a happy, energetic dog, and I love her for those reasons. One of the things I love best is watching her run. She's beautiful -- her long, silky hair rippling, her lean body low to the ground... I take her off-leash as often as possible so I can watch her flow around trees, leap over rocks, and stop just long enough to sniff something wonderful with her eyes narrowed to slits and her tail a still, bright flag as she deciphers the scent.

Dog-parks are great, but they're crowded and loud. So, occasionally, against the rules, I take her out to a local trail and let her and her sister, Coyote, run off-leash.

In an admittedly lame attempt at courtesy, I try to do this when it's unlikely there will be many other people on the trail. Generally, it's after dark (also against the rules) or when it's raining or extremely cold outside. On this particular day, there was a 6-inch layer of snow on the ground, and it was about 20 below zero -- a rarity for the part of Indiana in which I live -- and perfect for off-leash running.

The two dogs were having a great time, but I was starting to have a bit of a drop in my blood sugar, so I called them over to put their leashes back on so we could go home. I bent to snap the leash onto Sachi's collar when she plunked herself down on the ground and dug at her paw with her teeth. When she stood up, blood gushed from the paw. She'd apparently removed something from it -- a piece of glass from a beer bottle; a shard of ice from a puddle she'd broken through. Who knows. But the snow under her paw was quickly stained red.