Where to Begin?

Perhaps the saga should begin yesterday, when I took the rowdy brother-sister chow mix pair Iris and Murdoch on a minimalist run. I live in Highland (high land, get it?) so the first part of the run is downhill toward the Platte River, which has been running high lately, but where, normally, at least Murdoch, the beefier, hydrophilic male, swims. It was fast and high yesterday, but--unfortunately--I unleashed them for a swim. Out of nowhere, at a disarmingly leisurely, insouciant pace pedaled the Doggie Police. I issued the usual plea for clemency and got the usual response: one ticket instead of two. (It's Murdoch who will, this time, have the arrest on his record.) The whole episode had a collegial, perfunctory aspect to it--pure business, no lecture--and it seemed that the DP was relieved to encounter someone who actually produced an ID and was not rude, defensive, or abusive.

I take these things better than I used to. It's no one's fault, really, and am I going to submit to fear of committing a victimless crime? For the record, the only part of the run worthy of the name is the return ascent, which might gain a couple of hundred feet over 3/4 of a mile.