We only get out together about once a week. But just the sight of my running shoes coming out of the closet whips them into a frenzy of yips, spins and little snaps at one another. Though my wife and I are allegedly “Empty Nesters,” we are still responsible for 3 very active Labrador girls. Believe me, they can be a handful.

Dharma is the grande dame: closing in on 9 years old, she came to the family at the height of my cancer treatment. Blonde, soft fur and inky, dark, emotive eyes are her calling card. Poppy is her half sister and next in the pecking order at 4. Literally brought back from the dead after getting an acorn stuck in her little puppy throat, “The Popper” as she’s mostly known, is a little limited in the intelligence department. She squeals like a pig and snorts like a Buffalo, for God knows what reason but this little black powerhouse can fetch all day long and has the stacked shoulders and haunches to prove it. The baby of the family is Lola. Not yet a year, she’s the loosest limbed Lab I’ve ever seen and lies around the house with her legs splayed out like a frog. When she runs, her hind quarters still seem to be trying to figure out what they’re supposed to do. Strangely, once she gets in the water, she’s got a Michael Phelps like command of swimming.

This is the line up of my most consistent and, at the risk of insulting a few readers of this blog (make that the ONLY readers), my favorite running partners. With all due respect to the humanoids in my life, they’ve just never slobbered all over my face as I’ve laced up my shoes. They haven’t fought to be RIGHT next to me as we approach the woods. I’ve never had a human smash their face into the side of mine as I drove them home after a fistful of trail miles and water hazards.

Dogs are literally the best a man can get. I was thinking about this today, sitting on the couch at 3:45am, trying to read Larry McMurtry’s biography as my girls struggled to find some space on my lap. I wish I could love myself as much as they love me.

Even before I had the language to understand, running was a spiritual experience for me. Something I turned to again and again. Not that I ever really felt like I was looking for something when I’ve been out there running, it just became apparent to me over the years that it was a lot more than exercise. It was filling a hole before I knew I had one.

In my house, I’ve got a little room with a cubby hole like piece of furniture. In one of the holes, I’ve put a Buddha and a crucifix with a candle. Every day I’m home, I meditate there and afterwards I get down on my knees and pray. On the best days, one of my dogs is there with me and as I’m always figuring out “the God of my understanding,” I like to imagine God as loving me like a dog. Just all loyalty, forgiveness, love and no judgement. Growing up, I had an image of God as an old dude with a white beard. That doesn’t resonate with me today. Dogs do.

When we run together, I don’t think about too much else. I live in the present, don’t need any company but their’s. Sharing this kind of intimacy with creatures on four legs will surely draw some stares. Believe me, I get it. But at almost 60, I don’t give a fuck. It’s my truth, I see God, talk to God, love God through dogs. They’re not the only ones but most days, they’re the easiest conduit.

Don’t tell my wife but I’m planning an epic 60 bikepacking trip. My biggest fear? Missing mornings with my girls.