Sunday, February 10, 2008

The Dog Upstairs Detects Movement and Weak Electrical Currents

The dog was not surprised that he saw a god roiling at his door.

The only difference between the past and present is this, just a window and nothing more. A ledge to sit upon, a street below to watch; a window and nothing more.

The gurgling dog opened the door a little more. He said, "I am your most humble and obedient servant, and where would we go?"

To the sand, filthy mutt, where I can bury you up to your doughy neck and walk away. To the sand, that's where.

A smoggy rolling in the air. The dog raised his paw as if to breathe. He saw himself slapped by me and wincing, his dark tail twittering between his legs.

Was he not out of his body, this trembling, subservient dog, his wet snout hand-fabricated from marine-grade fiberglass?

To the sand, mutt. A dog is winsome, a puzzle for a human being to look down upon. A snout I slap (roiling at the door). A snout elongated and flexible, covered in sensory pores that detect movement and weak electrical currents. Just like that.

Just like that, but this was all in his head, the dog. Nothing for that tiny cottage in a dog's skull. A brain small and pointed like a shrew's, more rounded than a ghost-shark snout.

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