Opportunity in the heart of the ancient wood

Much to my astonishment I started going to the gym some months ago. It was one of those things: an offer I couldn't refuse. I like the idea, too, of being in half-decent shape. The idea, that is: getting around to it is another thing. I gave up the hope long ago of having muscles like Hercules, but a couple of reps here and there on a weight machine can't hurt.
I give it a shot each session, without overdoing things, mind you. Then I had an unplanned workout the other day that saw me sweating and huffing and puffing - and questioning any need for a gym.
The dog and I get out for a hike every day, barring a monsoon. Sam gets in about four miles of running for every one of mine, so no worries about his physical condition. With some of the recent snowfalls, we'd been sticking to a main trail trampled by boots and snowshoes. But it being Saturday, and no big hurry, this time I thought we'd extend our journey to one of the back trails.
My assumption that the snow would be settled and packed when we turned off the snowmobile trail onto a backwoods footpath was … presumptuous. A dozen steps in and it turned into a struggle, every footfall sinking through. But, me turn back and retrace our way? Nah.
So it turned into a colossal workout, perspiration, heavy breathing and heart pounding like I'd never experienced in the gym. Gosh, I think in these times, what if the old ticker gave out on me back here? Would Sam run for help - À la, 'What's that Lassie, Timmy's in the well?' Or would he courageously drag me to a main trail where a passerby might find me?
Whatever. I didn't collapse. But I thought, geez, somebody should sell memberships in this. What a session.
I had to stop and rest on a fallen tree to catch my breath. When I started again, a large, dark shape swooped overhead and landed in a tree just down the path. Too big for a hawk, I thought, was it possibly a bald eagle? Sam was off somewhere nearby exploring, and I vaguely mused whether this predator might be interested in him. Good luck picking up a 65-pound dog, but might a particularly hungry, mean bird give him some grief, rend Sam's back with his large talons and peck his eyeballs out?
I stopped below the creature's perch and tried to make him out. From the angle where I had a glimpse through branches, I could see its back, but couldn't focus on a head to identify it. I tried some sweet talk, but he wouldn't budge, so eventually we trudged along. I tried to keep close tabs on Sam.
Half a mile farther along, on the homeward stretch, still struggling through deep snow, we came to a more open spot. A shape glided into view and landed on a high branch. The same guy, following us - now came my opportunity for a clear view. On his perch, the thick body swivelled its head - and it turned out to be an owl. A boreal owl, if my subsequent check was accurate.
What a beauty, if only because I seldom see them on walks, and certainly not this close.
I watched him for a few minutes, starting the baby talk again: "What are you lookin' for cutie? You don't want this great big doggie, do you?"
Then it dawned on me that, maybe, the bird saw an opportunity in this big black dog and thought it worthwhile to follow. Sam regularly flushes out bunnies and pheasants, that sort of thing, although like the hound dog of song, he ain't never caught one. Could an owl be that clever as to think this beast crashing hither and thither through woods might send potential lunch scampering out into the open? Somehow, I wouldn't be surprised, I thought, with renewed appreciation for the workout and mystery of nature rolled into one.