Dogs unlike cats require exercise and since I am a responsible human that means daily walks. Luca, my rescue mutt, gets three walks a day and has developed an inner alarm that propels him to find me no matter where I am. At specific times there will be a presence in my periphery, silently sitting, looking at me with an expectant gaze. And sure enough it is eight in the morning, noon, or somewhere between four and four-thirty in the afternoon. He was not always so predictable however.

Luca was rescued from a forest where he had been found starving. This experience had created an almost feral attitude to the outdoors. Outside meant food and the chase to acquire it. Thus anything on four legs, or even no legs, was a possible meal. It was like walking a bloodhound on a scent. And despite the fact that he was still less than twenty pounds, Luca could pull the leash out of my hand if I was ever distracted. Squirrels, rabbits, birds, plastic bags, anything that moved was fair game. I experimented with every kind of collar and muzzle to minimize the constant pulling and jumping.

After a few months of this I decided we needed dog obedience training and enrolled in a beginner’s course. Luca was met by some very large and very disobedient Shepherds, Labs and other, not so intimidating, but yappy, smaller breeds. Compared to them he was a model of obedience, if only to show me he wanted out of there as quickly as possible. In no time he had perfected his lessons and we returned home a happier couple.

By now he had gained weight, and knew a few commands; enough obedience I thought, to risk an experiment. One Sunday we drove to a huge park, outside the city. It was Luca’s first outing in a forested area since his rescue. He was on high alert the moment his feet touched the ground. We walked and he sniffed and all was going so well I decided to try him off the leash. He had the commands Stay and Come down pat by now so I felt confident.

This however, was no local park. It must have seemed like wildlife heaven, for in the blink of an eye he was gone. It was so fast I couldn’t actually believe he wasn’t there. We had been walking near the edge of an open field and scanning the brown and golden expanse I saw nothing but waving grass. And then, in the distance I spied a bobbing, bouncing something running with break- neck speed toward the highway! He’d run so far, so quickly, that screaming his name seemed pointless. But scream I did, running like a mad woman across the field after him.

And just when I thought he was a goner, he stopped, turned and ran back across the field. He arrived, tongue lolling, saliva dripping with a wide –eyed gaze that said it all. He was the hunter home from the hunt; the terror of rabbits and squirrels and whatever it was he had almost caught! I didn’t know whether to hug him or shake him. I think I did a bit of both, while at the same time firmly re-attaching his leash.

Months later I read a book on Terriers that stated the breed was notorious for breaking your heart and scaring the life out of you. They will disappear, it said, sometimes for hours, but you can trust they will eventually return. I’m afraid I have yet to embrace that trust completely.