I’m just a little dog, but I know
what I saw; it wasn’t good. A flicker of black so quick, you doubt you saw it.
You feel vaguely unsettled without knowing why. You dismiss it. It was nothing.
But I saw it.
Dad told me to take care of mom;
he loves her. The dark thing comes around selling bitterness and so much more.
I tried to warn Lola; that wasn’t dad she stood staring at the night she died.
Disease overwhelmed her, blood refused to clot; all the medicine didn’t help as
she wanted to go with the impostor. Lola died; dad wouldn’t have taken her from
mom. So sad, forlorn we took Lola’s body to the vet. I worry how to tell mom of
the threat.
Dogs have been cursed to know so
much and yet, we do not speak in a way you understand. What quirk of fate
prevents your comprehension of my meaning? Could it be an angry deity, or
witchcraft? Or is it that same dark force that seeks my mom?
Blondie gets consumed with anger
sometimes. She goes up in the hills sniffing and killing rodents to burn this
rage off. She comes back spent, so dog tired, she fell asleep dreaming about
our friend Stormy, when the truck that ran him over came rumbling up the road.
She turned in circles before heading after that monster truck. No one is safe
from demons.
Oh, I’m just a little dog; what
do I know?
No comments:
Post a Comment