from the pen of icarus blake

My dog is going to report me to the ASPCA.

The heat of the day wears off into a warm, easy hush. I have an alarm set for it, 7:30 PM, an hour before sunset so I can walk my shag carpet of a dog without worries of him baking beneath his lush fur coat. I’m enjoying the light breeze, wrangling the dog as he orbits me comet-like at the end of the leash chasing prairie dogs when we hear it.

A rumbling growl rolls from a dark streak of clouds in the northwest, the sun turning the edges gilded as it slides towards the sliver of clear sky between the storm and the mountains. I trace the path, taste the wind, and decide it’s going to miss us to the north. The dog disagrees. He pins his ears back, looks at me with big wet eyes. I continue walking.

I turn my eyes skyward as the lightshow begins, walking slow and tripping over the dog as the thunderstorm to the north of us sparks with long threads of lightning. It dumps its payload over the foothills, hiding them behind a gilded curtain of mist. The dog is beside himself. He powerwalks to the end of his leash. His tail hangs limp at his rear like a flag of surrender.

My mumbled consolations mean nothing to him as I meander, ogling a cow against the fence. He has no interest in cows, or the other dogs that stop and lay down at his approach in hopes of a greeting. In the fields to the north, the coyotes begin their song with a high howl. This is the closest he’s ever been to them, and he doesn’t care about that either.

When we reach the apartment on the verge of dusk, I let him off his leash and he rushes up the two flights of stairs to paw and whine at our door. Our roommate lets him in. He slinks into the closet and eyes me with disdain, wondering how he’s supposed to dial the phone with paws.