Who Let the Dogs Out?
That was the question posed my first run in Phoenix, on March 24. It was already warm at 6:40 a.m. when I headed out from the Super 8 Motel on East Van Buren Street in the direction of the canal and its long, sandy path. But it was a weekday, and traffic was fierce, so I decided to cut north on 37th street to the canal. By about the second block into the shortcut I started hearing barking. I realized the street was lined on both sides with fenced-in, snarling dogs, all of whom seemed to think I looked a lot like breakfast. These weren’t your family puppy dogs -- these were guard dogs, long of fang and glittery of eye. I averted my face as much as I could (aren’t you supposed to do that?) and jogged on, confident that I’d be at my destination soon. As I approached the end of the street, first I saw a dog that was unfenced and off-leash, and then I saw a high, chain-link fence with a padlocked gate in it that was the only possible exit from the street onto the canal path. I contemplated ...