Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen : The Run of Freedom

There was one thing Topsy loved more than an ordinary walk.

Freedom.

Normally, whenever we took him outside, he was attached to his leash. He would walk along with us, sometimes stopping here and there, sometimes looking around at everything happening around him. Every little thing seemed to catch his attention. He might pause to look at something on the ground or turn his head towards a sound coming from somewhere nearby.

We would keep walking, and after a little while, he would follow us again.

It was an ordinary routine, something we had done countless times. But sometimes, even during those ordinary walks, Maa would notice something about him.

Perhaps he wanted to run. Perhaps he was getting tired of walking at our pace. Or perhaps she simply felt like giving him a little more freedom.

Whatever the reason, there were moments when Maa would look at him and say,

“Unleash him. He wants to be free for a little while.”

And the moment that leash came off, Topsy seemed to become a completely different dog.

It was as though he had been waiting for those exact words.

Of course, he never made it obvious immediately.

That was the funny part.

The moment the leash was removed, he wouldn't suddenly take off running. Instead, he would stand there quietly, almost as if nothing had changed.

His head would be lowered, and he would look towards the ground.

For a moment, he seemed completely innocent.

We would look at him, waiting to see what he was going to do.

He would remain still.

We would wait a little longer.

He would wait too.

Nothing happened.

Sometimes, looking at him standing there so peacefully, we might have thought he wasn't interested in running at all. Perhaps he was perfectly happy to continue walking with us.

But we knew Topsy.

And somewhere in the back of our minds, we knew that this silence probably wouldn't last very long.

Then, very slowly, he would lift his head.

He would look at us.

And there would be this tiny pause.

A strange little pause that made it feel as though Topsy was thinking about something.

It was the kind of moment when you couldn't help wondering what was happening inside that little head of his.

Was he waiting for us to look away?

Was he deciding which direction to run in?

Or was he simply enjoying the suspense before putting on his little performance?

We could never know for sure.

But whatever he was thinking, he seemed to have made up his mind.

And then—

he ran.

Not walked.

Not trotted.

Ran.

Like someone had suddenly pressed a button.

One moment, he was standing quietly in front of us, looking like the most well-behaved dog in the world. The next, he was racing away as though he had somewhere incredibly important to be.

His legs would move as fast as they could, and he would take off with an enthusiasm that made us wonder how he had managed to keep all that energy inside him while walking so calmly just a moment earlier.

We would stand there for a second, watching him disappear ahead of us.

And then we would start running too.

Because what else were we supposed to do?

We couldn't just stand there and watch him have all the fun.

Sometimes I would even make a race out of it.

The moment Topsy started running, I would run after him, determined to catch up. For those few seconds, it almost felt like we were competing in an actual race.

Of course, there was never much doubt about who was going to win.

Topsy had four legs.

We had two.

The competition was hardly fair.

Still, I would run after him, trying to close the distance between us. I would watch him move farther ahead, and the more distance he gained, the more ridiculous my little attempt to beat him seemed.

But I kept trying.

And Topsy seemed to understand that we were racing.

That was what made the whole thing so entertaining.

He wouldn't simply run straight ahead and forget about us. After getting some distance, he would turn his head around and look at us.

That look.

I can still imagine it.

He wouldn't need to bark or make any sound. The look itself seemed to say enough.

It was almost as though he was mocking us.

As if he were saying,

“Look at me! I was behind all of you, and now I'm first!”

Then, having made sure we had witnessed his victory, he would turn forward again and continue running.

Sometimes he would look back more than once.

He would race ahead, glance over his shoulder, and then keep going as if he needed to check whether we were still watching.

And every time he did, it felt less like an ordinary dog running and more like a little boy showing off after winning a race.

He seemed so pleased with himself.

There was no doubt in his mind that he was the champion.

And perhaps he was.

At least in his own little world.

I don't think Topsy cared much about whether we were actually trying to beat him or whether we had already accepted our defeat. To him, the important thing was that he was running faster than everyone else.

And he wanted us to notice.

He wanted an audience for his victory.

We were not just the people accompanying him on a walk anymore. We had become the spectators of his little race, and he seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement.

The funniest thing was that he didn't run because he was trying to escape from us.

He would run ahead, enjoy his freedom, and still keep checking where we were.

He wanted to go fast.

But he also wanted us to see him doing it.

That was Topsy.

Even when he was free to run wherever he wanted, he still wanted his family nearby.

He would race ahead, look back at us, and then continue. Sometimes, just when we thought he had finally decided to concentrate on running, he would turn around again.

It was almost as if he wanted to make sure we were watching his performance.

And honestly, we were.

How could we not be?

Watching Topsy run was entertaining in itself. There was something so joyful about the way he moved when he was free. His excitement was contagious, and it was difficult not to smile at the sight of him enjoying himself so much.

His entire body seemed lighter.

There was no leash holding him back.

No one telling him where to walk.

Just Topsy, the open space, and all that energy waiting to burst out.

For those few moments, he seemed completely carefree.

He wasn't concerned about winning anything that mattered. There was no prize waiting for him at the finish line, and no one was going to hand him a medal for being the fastest.

He simply wanted to run.

And perhaps that was what made those moments so lovely.

He didn't need a reason to be happy. He didn't need us to organise something special for him. Give him a little space, remove the leash, and he would find his own way to turn an ordinary walk into something exciting.

Whenever he looked back at us, that playful expression made it even better.

I sometimes wondered what exactly was going through his mind.

Maybe he was thinking, Why are these people so slow?

Maybe he was thinking, Come on, catch me!

Or perhaps he was simply enjoying the feeling of running, with no thoughts at all beyond the excitement of the moment.

With Topsy, there was always a little mystery.

He could behave like a completely ordinary dog one moment and then do something that made us wonder how much he actually understood.

His teasing during those races was one of those things.

He knew we were behind him.

He knew we were trying to catch him.

And somehow, he seemed to enjoy making sure we knew that he was winning.

Perhaps we were imagining some of that expression. Perhaps we were giving human thoughts to a dog who was simply excited to run.

But when you live with an animal for so long, you begin to recognise little things about them. You learn their habits, their expressions, and the small ways they communicate without words.

And with Topsy, it was difficult not to imagine that he knew exactly how funny he was being.

He had a way of turning even the simplest things into a little game.

Eventually, after all that running, he would slow down.

His little race would come to an end, at least for the moment. We would catch up, and the distance between us would disappear.

For a while, everything would become normal again.

The excitement would settle, and we would continue our walk together.

But I always loved those few minutes when Topsy was allowed to run freely.

They were such simple moments that we probably didn't think much about them at the time. There was no special occasion, no celebration, and nothing unusual about the place where they happened.

It was just a walk.

A leash coming off.

A dog taking off at full speed.

And the rest of us trying, rather unsuccessfully, to keep up.

Yet those little moments became part of the memories I carried with me.

Topsy wasn't just walking with us.

He was enjoying himself.

He was running because he wanted to run.

He was turning around because he wanted to see us.

And he was making a simple walk feel like an adventure.

That was one of the things about having Topsy around.

Nothing had to be planned.

We didn't need anything special.

Sometimes all it took was a leash coming off.

A quick look.

A sudden sprint.

And a dog who seemed determined to prove that four legs were always going to beat two.

And, judging by the way he looked back at us while running, he knew it too.

He wasn't just winning the race.

He was making sure we knew it.

And we did.

Every single time.