She came to me like any other dog, our paths crossing when I had room and she needed a home, the bigger reasons for our meeting still unclear.  

She was her own dog, sweet but wild and aloof, full of confidence and at once unsure of herself. Easy to misunderstand. A lot like me.

I held her leash too tightly and she fought me the entire time. The fear of losing her was so strong, I couldn’t loosen my grip.

I imagined her falling into the wrong hands or with someone who didn’t understand her. I couldn’t let that happen to her, so I kept her close.

Despite my tight grip she got away from me a few times. I always found her, unapologetic and relaxed, but somehow relieved to see me. 

I understood her need for freedom. I had the same need. The same desire to run free just for the sake of running. Until it was too dark or cold or far from home.

There was a language between us. We knew each other. When and what no one else understood, she did. I did the same for her.

As she got older, she came to enjoy the sanctuary I provided. Like me, she never lost the urge to run, but had learned to temper it.

She was sent to me to learn to let go. Something I generally do well, but often not when I should. Even though I know letting go is freedom.

I regret not letting her off-leash for at least one good run. I dreamed of taking her back to her native New Mexico, where I would turn her loose in the rugged landscape under a big, beautiful sky. I always thought I’d get the chance but she ran out of time.

She is still with me in spirit. Lighting up the path for me when I start to lose my way. Always showing up when I’m holding on to something too tightly.

I see her and think about dropping her leash. How incredible it would be to see her running free across the wild desert. Knowing she’ll return before it gets too dark or cold or far from home. And I set her free.