The Dog

In hot pursuit, you run out of the stable to catch the last glimpse of a long, spindly tail and a back paw disappear around the corner of the garage. It was a dog that burst out of that stall.

With a calm pace, you corner the building and glance down toward the garden path. A large hound mutt stands in the center of the path about seven yards ahead of you. It’s difficult to tell, but you don’t think it’s wearing a collar. After all, the jingle of its tags would have given it away if it had. You and the dog study each other, neither one of you willing to make the first move. When you finally start to take a step, the dog play bows and barks, the bray so deep you can feel it vibrate in your own chest. You commit to that forward step and the dog barks again. It doesn’t strike you as violent, so you continue towards it. Every few steps, it leaps backward and bows again, barking each time, as if keeping the distance between you is some sort of game. When you’re finally standing where it was positioned to start, it bounds away toward the hedge line and shimmies through a patch of bare and torn branches low down to the ground.