TAKE THE LEAP

I froze mid-stride when three quadruped heads turned toward me in the dark green shadows about a mile ahead on the Lehigh and Delaware towpath. In the deepening dusk, I could only make out their large dusky bodies and pointed ears. With the canal to the right of the path and the river to the left, we had nowhere to go but toward or away. 

A similar decision was looming in my work life. My first practice had landed at the New Hope Center for Acupuncture after completing a residency in osteopathic manipulative treatment (OMT) in Philadelphia. The picturesque village on a wide stretch of the Delaware River was a regional mecca for the arts, swelling on weekends with various and sundry seekers of good times. During the week, both the crowds and the cash flow dried up - not the best place for a new fee-for-service specialty practice. But before I could say bad choice, my naturopathic physician ex-girlfriend left for greener pastures and the two acupuncturists retired home, one to have a baby and the other to consolidate for the long haul. Left with the building and it's considerable expenses, I moved into the 2nd floor and hired out my services to a suburban rehabilitation practice and the nearest osteopathic medical school. The part-time teaching was good, but it didn't pay enough to sustain the office. The moonlighting practice proved to be a mill for car accident collusion. Every attorney-referred victim had x-rays, MRIs, CAT scans, specialty consultations, and daily physical therapy. The physician owner was happy to add OMT into the billing mix. I needed to get out of there before either I or the place was busted.

Deciding deer over dog, I chose toward while they, deciding hunter over grazer, chose away. They ran in fits and then stopped to graze until my steady movement again caught the doe's cautious eye. I picked up the pace and their spurts shortened as I narrowed the gap. Before long, they were a football field away, signaling my own sprint. They followed suit, the yearlings jostling to keep up with their mother. At fifty yards, she glanced back with eyes wide and mouth drooping open. At twenty-five, they swerved right, then left, then right again. At ten, she ducked her head like a ram and leapt into the canal, landing halfway across as one fawn followed with a splash. The other turned as I stopped, offering it's throat to the wolf with the red shorts. To my whispered "go baby", it did a standing broad jump and doggy-paddled after the others.