Eye to eye with my running partner.

Alright.  I was an hour or so late.  She can't entirely blamed for indulging in a mild revenge.  We have also only been running partners for a month or so.  She hardly knows me well, I must allow that she might well have felt anxious.  Nonetheless, I was not in a mood to cope with petty vengeance.  The rights and the wrongs of the occasion escaped my notice. This was an offence I did not intend to overlook.

I eyed her coldly and deliberately. Neither of us spoke.  It may have had something to do with her mouth being full at the time - of my hands, as it happens, along with the as yet unidentified hostage.  I was going to win this battle.  I had to win this battle.  She looked directly back at me, not a twitch of remorse, not a second thought in her mind, but that my tardiness fully justified her pique, that I had earned the consequences and must pay the price.  I looked directly at her, tight lipped, and said nothing. I could surely outlast her, couldn't I?

Ok, I didn't. How long it would have gone on I don't know, but I have to acknowledge her the winner.  In the end, after perhaps five minutes, I resorted to force majeur, and let it be known that I was not pleased.  There were harsh words (on my part). And then I felt bad.  The disputed property? An unmatched pair of socks.  Did a pair of socks matter so very much? And holes - as long as they don't occur where toes might peep through, or where a heel might rub, do they matter so very much?  (And they weren't my socks anyway!)

It was a shabby way to reward a near ideal mate.  She lets me choose the route, whether we walk or whether we run, whether we go fast or slow.  She has been ever willing to head out the door, neither rain nor cold diminishing her enthusiasm.  And I quibble at a pair of socks?  That are not even mine?

We have made up.  There have been hugs and kisses both ways.  I have played toss, and she has played fetch, and I have even stooped to her favourite game of tug of war.  Lumps of cheese have fallen from the table, and there may have been more of interesting bits in her dinner than is normally included the ration.  She is now having a carefree woof outside, and I shall not chide her.

She won indeed, and I, chastened, but in possession of a slightly moist un-pair of socks, have received her unqualified forgiveness.  I have also forgotten what I was cross about.  It can't have mattered, no more than an un-pair of socks at any rate.  We have, in past engagements disputed more coveted items: a hat, a sports bra (which stood up remarkably well to the teeth and the rough and tumble), two rather expensive pairs of eyeglasses (which did not), and a five pound note.  But even these were but a small change to pay for the companionship beyond price of partners in training.

Today: another 40 minute run with the beast, the last until after the weekend, and then only if she comes back to lodge with us again.  I have a fear that after a weekend back at her real home, her people may not wish to be parted from her.