By: Joshua T. Marshall
She sat on the concrete in the light as was her custom on sunny days. I’d positioned my chair on the deck, but in the shade. A chilly breeze swept through the uncut grass and weeds and tampered with the flame from my Zippo’s flame. I struck the flint again, trying to light the cigarette. She glanced at me without much concern before closing her eyes and facing the sun.
“She is not young anymore,” the thought crossed my mind. A meditative drag eased me into a reverie about the first time we met. She always wanted to be close, pressed against another living warmth. I contemplated the countless times we’d spent sleeping in bed. She had nightmares often (about what I was never sure) which caused her to shake and try to speak out about the unconscious torment. I would attempt to coax her awake, always careful not to startle her.
The years had made her look old, but as she basked in the sunlight, I could see evidence of her youth peak through. There was still a glint of curiosity in her eyes that made me wonder what she was thinking about. All at once she was up and approaching me. It was five o’clock. I extinguished my cigarette and opened the sliding door. She followed me, wagging her tail and panting, still excited for the same supper she’d eaten for thirteen years.