I took the dogs out for an evening constitutional around 9 pm Tuesday. I just walk them about halfway down the driveway when it’s dark, but that was far enough that Zeke smelled/heard something on the far side of the yard and took off. When I stepped off the driveway onto the newly-laid wheat straw, I couldn’t keep my footing and hold on the leash at the same time, so Zeke got away. He disappeared into the darkness of the woods. I suspect that it was a fox, because the night before we had seen glowing eyes and peaked ears directed towards the house from the edge of the yard.

I dropped Sam’s leash at the same time he tried to follow Zeke, but when I accidentally stepped on his leash and he felt the tug, he stopped immediately. Good dog! Lucy was oblivious. I couldn’t follow Zeke with the two other dogs, so I had to wait until I got them back into the house. At that point, all I could do was get into the truck and cruise around. I went down both sides of the mountain and up to both ends of Lavender Trail. No sign of Zeke. I did the same drive two other times before we went to bed with no better luck.

Of course I went out a few times and called, but I never expected him to come back to a call. He doesn’t respond to calls when he’s rampaging.

This off-leash excursion was different from all the many past ones. In all of those cases, Zeke has never spent the night outside. Leah and I both feared the worst. I imagined that he had been hit by a car and his body was lying somewhere in the dark off the side of the road. Or maybe he ran deep into the woods and snagged his leash on something, hanging himself. From past experience, I knew he barked when he was caught by the leash in the woods, and there was no barking that night or the next morning. Or maybe he just followed the fox too far into the woods and was lost. It happens.

The next morning I walked Sam and Lucy to the end of the driveway. I halfway expected to see Zeke down on the road (hopefully looking suitably chastened), but no. I noticed an SUV turn down Wildlife Trail in front of our old house, but I didn’t think much about it. As we walked back up the driveway, I heard a woman’s voice asking if I was looking for a dog. Zeke was in the back of her SUV.

She said her daughter had been driving across the mountain at a little after 10 and found Zeke walking down Fouche Gap Road. She stopped and picked him up — Zeke never met a stranger and has willingly jumped into other people’s cars on other occasions. So Zeke spent the night at these people’s house. Fortunately, the woman and I had met before so she had at least an inkling of where we might live. It turned out she had driven up to me and dogs as we tried to figure out what to do with another dog that was wandering around the mountain. She vaguely remembered me and I vaguely remembered her.

So it was all good in the end, although I doubt that Zeke learned anything from this incident.

In other dog news, Lucy may be getting old. She has been balking at going for our morning walks. This is the way she crosses the kitchen on the way out to the garage.

She sets her feet and slides across the floor. Once she accepts that she’s not sleeping in, she starts walking and doesn’t seem to have any problems. Unfortunately, not wanting to walk is not the only possible sign of aging. She also seems to be incontinent, or at least very careless about where she relieves herself. She has soaked her own bedding, and on Wednesday apparently soaked a spot bigger than herself in a new bed we had just brought home for Sam. I’m hoping it isn’t a sign of something more serious than just aging, although that would be bad enough. If it happens again, a visit to the vet will be in order.

I love dogs. They provide agreeable company, which was important for me when I lived by myself for many years. They can provide some sense of security, which was important for Leah since I worked away from home from the time we got married in 2005 until the time I retired in around 2015. They’re always glad to see you, and they hate to see you leave. They listen carefully to everything you say, although they don’t always do what you say. I think their sense of humor is admirable, since they seem to admire my jokes.

In addition to all of those sterling qualities, they also often shed profusely. When Leah and I get up, the rays of the rising sun come in the living room window and front door at a grazing angle, highlighting the dog hair on the floor. The hair seems to shine with an internal light against the dark hardwood floors. I swept this up one morning a few days ago.

We only have to do this every single morning. Some mornings there is even more than this.

I have had indoor dogs for more than 30 years. I found white hairs on my sweaters from Jesse, my first indoor dog, for years after she died. Doberman Pinschers shed, too, but their hair is dark and less noticeable. Zeke and Sam have lots of white hair, so theirs is very visible.

I use a special comb with sharp metal teeth to groom the dogs, and I routinely rub them vigorously with my hand. It usually looks like it’s snowing when I do that. But they still seem to shed as much indoors as they do when I don’t try to get the loose hair off.

I don’t really understand how they can shed as much as they do.

I walked Zeke down Fouche Gap Road every weekend when I was working, and now since I have retired I walk him every day. When we got Lucy after my mother died, she began to accompany us. When we got Sam, he accompanied us. For a long time our two-mile walk took a little under an hour. We never hurried. There was always something to sniff, a squirrel or a passing car to watch.

A while ago our walks started taking around an hour, partly because I let Sam and Zeke play at the turn-around point. Sam is a whirlwind; he dives in and grabs Zeke by the leg or neck, then jumps away, spins and dives back in. For the most part, Zeke stands and parries, or rolls over onto his back and pushes with his legs while Sam dances around. Sometimes Zeke chases Sam, at least to the end of the leash. Sometimes Zeke even seems to initiate the play. So, that takes a little while.

Lately our walks have been lasting closer to an hour and a half. It seems like I’m always urging Zeke along. He stops and stares into the distance. He cuts in front of me and stops, forcing me to stop. He drags along slowly as we climb the mountain and then climb up our driveway. I find myself wondering if he is slowing down because he’s getting old.

His white face makes it hard to tell whether he’s getting gray. If you look closely in the brown on the right side of his face, it seems like there are some white hairs mixed in, but nothing like Lucy.

We have had Zeke since around the middle of 2006, so we know he is at least 10 years old. He was an adult when we got him; I’m sure he was at least a year old then, maybe even older. That’s pretty old for a dog, especially a big dog.

So I wonder. It’s inevitable, of course. Sooner or later the signs will be obvious, and that’s going to be hard for him and for me.

I suppose I’m not that far behind him.