April 2025 – Contributed by a Community Volunteer

The Elegant Stride: When does a stride become a glide?

I was observing Kona, a female Belgian Malinois, the other day—a lovely, talented rescue dog—as she retrieved a ball I had thrown across the turf. As she returned to me, her stride unfolded like silk in the wind. Long, unbroken, beautiful. At some point, all four paws lifted from the ground, and she was no longer running—she was hovering. Gliding. The turf beneath her seemed irrelevant.

It made me think of all the different gaits I’ve seen. The heavy, rhythmic loping of a St. Bernard, moving like a slow avalanche. The sprightly, toe-tapping daintiness of a Havanese, each paw-step a punctuation of delight. The unsure, earnest waddle of a small Pit Bull, like a brave little tugboat bracing itself against the tide.

Each breed carries its own narrative of motion, its own story written in joints and sinew. But every so often, a dog transcends its anatomy. The glide is not a function of breed or build—it is a choice, a moment, a mysterious convergence of rhythm, muscle, and intent. It is when motion itself overtakes form. When the dog forgets to walk and begins to be.

The Belgian Malinois reminded me that this transformation isn’t just mechanical—it’s poetic. In the wildness of the glide, there is both purpose and art. The moment the stride becomes a glide, the dog becomes something more than creature—it becomes movement, spirit, force.