She
woke to the sound of a dog barking. Not her dog. She had a cat, not a dog. Cats
were independent, took care of themselves, and yet were soft, not all panting
bones. You could wrap yourself around a cat, or rather, hold still while the
cat did its getting settled dance, snuggled in, purred, let you pet it.
Dogs
drooled, panted, wagged, jumped up and barked, as this one was. She opened her eyes. The dog was
still barking.
She
got up, parted the shade to look out the back. No dog in sight, just the shrill
bark bark bark. Must be a small dog. She closed the window, but she could still
hear it.
Put
on her robe, brushed her teeth, started the coffee. The dog was still barking
through the closed windows.
She
opened the front door to get the paper. Dog still barking, a little louder, a
little more desperate, but the higher note persisted, just short of a howl. Maybe
it was caught somewhere.
She
closed the door, poured the coffee, unfolded the paper, nothing to read on the
front page, nothing she cared about.
The
dog was still barking. She leapt up, slipping on the newspaper she’d thrown in
front of the chair, down on one knee, then up, out the front door with a
section of newspaper rolled up in her left hand, the cup of coffee in her
right. Maybe she’d throw the coffee at the dog. She didn’t know.
Around
the side to her own back yard—fenced yard, no dog in sight—but she still heard barking, barking, barking.
She
sat in the lawn chair, took a sip of coffee, lukewarm, unrolled the section of
the paper she’d grabbed—the Business section: “Best Buy Out of Europe.”
“Who
cares?” she yelled and began to read the article out loud and loudly, pitching her voice to
match the timbre of the bark, pacing her cadence to the bark, bark, bark, and
gradually, slowly, the numbing words and the regular beat calmed her and the
dog until both were silent and at rest, if not peace.
© 2013 Kathleen Coskran*
* Inspired by "Another Reason I Don't Keep a Gun in the House" by Billy Collins
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