Not long afterward 40 people and their dogs showed up in Norwich for the first Dog Run Dog 5K. Since that inspired event in the summer of 2005 Dog Run Dog has evolved into an annual race circuit with more than a dozen races planned this year in major venues such as Atlanta, Brooklyn, Boston, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Montreal, Tempe, Arizona, and St. Petersburg, Florida—plus the not-so-major village of Norwich. Although plans have been shelved for this year, Gardner hopes to expand his program into Europe.

Gardner, whose day job is painting houses, is something of an impresario. In 2004 he staged the International Open Mic Music Festival at the Bema and Marko the Magician’s magic show at the nearby Lebanon Opera House. Now he’s added an international interspecies racing series to his resume.

Gardner didn’t invent dog running. The sport of canicross, in which people run cross-country harnessed to dogs, began in Europe more than a century ago. Canicross can be technical and intense, explains Gardner. Dog Run Dog’s aim, by comparison, is the creation of a casual, family-friendly event. “We’ve opened it up to everybody,” he says. “Anybody can run with their dog. You can walk. You can jog.”

In fact, if you are like Gardner, who doesn’t own a dog, you can still enter: Unleashed humans are allowed.

Gardner may be on to something. In five years he’s transformed Dog Run Dog from yet another Vermont oddity into something much larger. To date more than 1,000 teams and 200 different dog breeds have run in 15 Dog Run Dog races held in seven states. He says the runners typically hear about Dog Run Dog via word of mouth and his website, dogrundog.com.

Dartmouth women’s cross country coach Maribel (Sanchez) Souther ’96 raced with her weimaraner, Colby, in the 5K women-and-dog division last year. Souther made the race a goal for getting back in shape after the birth of her son. Part of the preparation involved coaching Colby. “He’s not a great leash runner,” she says. “The truth is, Colby is my training partner. He is the per—uh, the one—who goes out with me every day to run, to do workouts. He never bails. He’s always there.”

Souther and Colby ran the race in 17:49—giving them a dog-running world record. “It was a team effort,” she says. “Colby was literally pulling me.” Souther acknowledges she didn’t have much choice. “He can’t not pull,” she explains. “I had to spend the summer training him so he wouldn’t kill me.”

Dogs tend to run faster than their humans, and a strong runner benefits by as much as 30 seconds per mile, according to Ed Clifford of Raymond, New Hampshire, who last year bested his previous record in Norwich by three seconds with a time of 16:14. His Norwegian pointer, Maggie, is one of 15 dogs he trains to accompany him sledding, skiing, biking and running. “The dogs really want to do something. They’re bred for their intensity, and whatever they do they throw themselves into it 100 percent,” says Clifford.

Bob Norton Jr. of the Haddam (Connecticut) Volunteer Fire Co. and his dog Shadow, a Dalmatian, are another enthusiastic team. Shadow keeps fit by using the firehouse treadmill. But the duo nearly missed the 2009 Norwich race because of an emergency call. They arrived at the starting line just in time. “We run in local charity runs and I must say I’ve never experienced such a great group of runners—and Shadow couldn’t believe his eyes with all the dogs,” says Norton. “He got to rub noses with all types. We had great chats along the 10K route with a number of very dedicated animal lovers. Shadow had a great time. And when he has a great time, I have a great time.”

Dog Run Dog’s pre-race prep is more complicated than a typical road race. For example, water stops have buckets, and red pails are placed along the course for doggy-bag disposal. To avoid pit stops Gardner advises that people warm up their running mates before the race. “During these warm-up sessions the dog will most likely go,” he says.

Gardner’s main race-day worry is a massive dog fight. But to date that hasn’t happened. “The dogs seem to understand what’s going on,” he says. The biggest problem at Dog Run Dog races: Overly friendly dogs and owners who tangle leashes. “If you think of putting more than 100 dogs on a start line at one time, the interaction of the dogs is not something that is easily managed,” says Tom Kendall ’72 of Bart Race Services, a company that times the races.

Gardner and his team of volunteers hope to bring the sport into the mainstream by starting a national association to sanction events, create guidelines for the health and safety of dogs and dog runners, and develop ethics and training programs. Plans are afoot to launch an invitational dog-running world championship in 2012, but Gardner has an even loftier vision—the Olympics. “Dogs have been around us forever,” he says. “I think they deserve to get on the podiums at some point and win some gold medals.”

Elizabeth Kelsey is a contributing editor to Dartmouth Engineer magazine. In 2009 she placed second in the women’s solo division of the Norwich Dog Run Dog 10K.

For me, though, it was the prospect of having my chocolate Labrador retriever, Duke, at school that made me most enthusiastic. Leaving her behind freshman year—yes, she was a female Duke—had not been easy.

When I proposed bringing her to live in the house my friends and I had sublet on School Street, everyone embraced the idea. Upon inspection of our lease, however, it became evident that pets were prohibited.

I was astonished when one of my friends proclaimed, “So what? Bring her anyway! We’ll just hide her from the landlord.” None of my other housemates objected, and I promised to bring Duke when I returned before summer classes.

One unfortunate consequence of my time away from home as a Dartmouth student was that Duke had gained an inordinate amount of weight in my absence. I attributed this to too many Milk-Bones and limited exercise while in my mother’s care.

On the drive back to Dartmouth with Duke in the back seat I decided for her that Camp Dartmouth would be a dog-focused fat camp.

Upon arriving at the Green Duke bounded out of my car when I opened the door and did four enthusiastic laps before marking her new territory. I imagined her thinking, “This is the greatest yard I’ve ever had.”

Duke quickly embraced life as a college dog. She never suffered from a shortage of people to take her on walks or play fetch on the Green. She enjoyed hiking on Mount Moosilauke, swimming in the Connecticut River and at the Ledges and staying for a weekend at the Second College Grant. But the summer was not all fun and games for Duke. She had genuine responsibilities, such as serving as mascot for my intramural softball team. Being the only team with a mascot soothed the pain of a winless season, marked by a catastrophic 26-run loss to a squad of Theta Delts.

Duke also sat through many lectures, as I often brought her to class. Her presence there was a testament to both my professors’ patience and Dartmouth’s  history of dogs in the classroom. I can only imagine how hard it must have been for my environmental studies professor Jack Shepherd to lecture over the grating sound of a rotund Labrador panting away at the back of the room. Still “Shep,” ever faithful to tradition, never asked me to leave her at home.

By late July it became apparent that while Duke and I were enjoying summer, my mother was not adjusting well to life without a dog. Over the phone she described in a distraught voice how strange it felt to not have “her dog” around, constantly begging for treats. Having discovered the College Web cams while visiting the Dartmouth Web site, she asked me for a favor. She wanted to arrange a time when Duke and I would go to the Green so she could see us live.

I agreed to honor the request at 10 a.m. the next day. While Duke and I stood in the middle of the Green facing the Hanover Inn I called my mother to notify her we were in position. “Oooh, I can see you!” she shouted when she answered. I laughed and waved awkwardly. Afterward, I muttered to Duke, “Girl, I’ve heard of empty-nest syndrome, but empty-kennel syndrome? This is crazy.”

Back on School Street we had only one close call with the landlord, when he stopped by unannounced one morning just as I was waking up. Still barefoot and shirtless, I scrambled to sneak Duke out of the house. I consider us lucky he never questioned the odor of wet dog that permeated the house.

As the summer concluded I decided to evaluate the success of Doggy Fat Camp. A trip to the veterinary clinic revealed Duke had shed 14 pounds since coming to Dartmouth!

I took Duke for a walk around campus on our last night in Hanover and reflected on the events of the past few days. As many people had stopped by my house to say goodbye to Duke as had come to see me. The next day Duke saw Dartmouth for the last time as we headed westward across the Ledyard Bridge.

Duke never returned to Hanover, but I always made sure she wore a Dartmouth collar. Last fall Duke’s vet discovered she had a fatal liver tumor. On the day Duke was put to sleep I cradled her tired head in my arms as she lay on the cold, metal examination table. I focused on her jaundiced eyes as the vet injected her with the medicine that stopped her heart and ended her pain. My mother and I wept as Duke closed her eyes and took a final breath.

That night I sent e-mails to my friends who lived with Duke and me sophomore summer. I smiled when I read one friend’s response: “Sorry to hear about Duke. She was a good dog and her nine years probably contained more minutes of pure happiness than most humans experience in 80-plus years.”

I spoke with another Dartmouth friend, Greg Sheehan ’07, who had been a self-avowed dog-hater before meeting Duke and becoming her great friend. It was not uncommon to find the two of them playing fetch in the yard. When I told Greg about Duke’s death he confided in me that he had just been thinking about her and was considering getting his own Labrador retriever.

Although I buried Duke’s ashes at my cabin in northern Minnesota, it would have been equally fitting to spread them over the Connecticut River. She was, after all, Dartmouth’s Duke.

Richard Hansen lives in Minnesota.