Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Hey Hey Freedom: Pink Dog

So, its an empty beach. Empty. It’s well-used. Over-used. It wouldn’t or shouldn’t appear in an advertisement for itself. They would probably use a different photo. A photo of the beach when it was younger, or perhaps, a photo of an entirely different beach. A beach in its prime.
It’s empty. There is the sound of the surf and the gentle hollow knocking-together sound of the squadron of coconuts I just threw in the water. Its after staring at the ocean and looking at my hands for a while (my hands have this black stuff all over them and I can’t seem to determine where it is coming from. I wash off the black patterns, go about my day, in this case, a leisurely day on the beach, and after a while look down and find a whole new pattern of this black stuff of indiscernible source all over my hands again, up to the wrist.) that I notice the dog that has appeared on what used to be the empty beach.
The dog is looking at me. He/she is far away. I am up-wind, therefore the dog has much more information about me than I do about him/her.
To most people this probably wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but I have a life history of being attacked by dogs in this kind of situation. Quiet stoic silhouettes of dogs, like this one, quickly can become gnashing blades that deliver circular wounds of pain and blood.
We Stare.
His/her ears move like little radars and nose like a little censor/collector gauge me, my intentions, and attitude.
The dog has no collar and is strong, leading me to infer that his/her independence is either A. self-inflicted and a testament to the animal’s self-confidence or B. forced upon him/her and a clue into its wretched, loathsome, lonely, and desperate existence.
It’s a stand off.
He/she is faster and stronger than me.
We Stare at Each Other.
There is a bright orange Sunkist soda can floating in the ocean.

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