A ribbon of gray pavement ran through the deep woods, holding back the thicket of bare tree branches that grabbed at it and tried to swallow it up. It was closed off to cars, allowing mothers pushing strollers, dog-walkers, and runners like me to have the path to ourselves. Only today, I was its only visitor, or so I thought. Down the straight path, in the early morning darkness, I noticed silhouettes ahead of me. It looked like...dogs. A pack of dogs in the woods? I had just seen the "The Grey" the previous night, a movie about man-eating wolves in Alaska, and suddenly slowed my pace. I squinted. Not wild dogs, greyhounds! I could tell now that their lines were slender and sleek, and for a moment, I rationalized that there was a dog park just a mile up the road. A greyhound lover must be out walking with their dogs and let them off the leash. I jogged forward and all of the sudden, through the shadows cast by the rising sun behind the trees, I saw a spec of white on o