I’ve sat at her feet for thousands of years. I’ve been cast in bronze and carved in stone and it never really seems to look like me, not really. When she runs with her women, I run. When I was young she had to teach me not to chase her arrows. It’s not my fault I thought her bow was just a fancy stick thrower but I learned to course with her other hounds.
Down we would run through the forests that used to grow around Mt Olympus, faster and faster chasing rabbits or stags or sometimes wild boar, anything for the tables of the gods.
We don’t spend much time on Mt Olympus, thank heavens, it’s boring up there for a dog. I’d rather spend my time under the moon with her maidens. They spoil us wonderfully.
I love the nights of the full moon for we run and run, coursing fast as the west wind. Across mountains and fields and through streams and
leaping over brooks, we run. We run and the moon runs with us across the sky. We even run amongst the stars, around the bear that used to be one of her maidens, Callisto. Around the hunter who will never catch us though hunt he might. Around we go around Andromeda and through Cassiopeia’s long hair as she hangs from her chair. We race and race until her brother is ready with his chariot to bring the dawn. And when morning comes we lay down in the forest’s groves and sleep deeply.
So now I look at the statues and remember … running…