7 miles this am. Was cold and frosty and hence not that fun. Or at least not for awhile. Ran up Stark and circled the mt tabor reservoir. The neighborhoods i looked down on were covered with fog that the rising sun backlit with an orangey-pink that looked nice and (nearly) made it all worth it.
went home and got Maxwell and gave him his walk. As we crossed into the park, a nearby dog began to lunge toward us, only to be called back by his owner's voice.
The owner muttered something to me about the importance of dogs being on leash and that, some months earlier her dog – Magic – had got entangled with a dog that looked similar to mine. The owner had apparently gotten wrapped up in his dog’s leash and fell.
- that was me, i said
- oh my god, she said
so yes, here she was: the woman whose off-leash dog crashed into me and Maxwell in the rain last May, knocking me to the ground and subsequently breaking my arm. She was apologetic and displayed appropriate contrition, which deepened when she learned a broken limb was involved.
For months I’ve been telling the story of The Woman Whose Dog Broke My Arm And Then Didn’t Even Stop To See If I Was Okay but now I suppose with this denouement the story will change, or at least become a bit textured. Hearing it from her side shed a tiny bit of light on how it went down, and why she didn’t stop – not because (as I am fond of telling people) she was a horrible person with a black suppurating void where her humanity should have been, but rather because she was embarrassed for letting her dog off the leash in the first place.
We talked for a bit and she was nice enough and her dog was well-behaved and friendly. It felt semi-historic (as relates to my life, not World History, that is), a moment of closure and completion that you’d only really get in a city like Portland.
I suppose I need to let all that anger go now. Onward.