Immortal

Written on the morning of Dec. 4, 2013, just hours before Chewy was struck by a truck and died:

He looked for the dog but she was in some other place. Living out the mandate of predator. In pursuit. On the scent. For the moment - in these moments - the dog had transcended its domestic bonds; she was out of reach, weaving together the forest with invisible thread, this way, cut back, over log, around tree, now fast and direct she ran down into the ravine, impossibly steep; she ran without misstep over bracken and rock and crashed into the icy creek. She lapped at the water furiously before driving up the bank and up the other side of the ravine.

Here she came into his view, running along the next ridge he saw the dog for what she was. Sleek black fur on tight skin covering visible musculature, she was propelled by a vertebral spring in a wingless flight. Against the varied gray background of winter forest she was a charcoal drawing made animate and immortal by limestone parchment.

His dry lips faintly whistled.  He called out "Hey pup!"

Without pause and without acknowledgement her trajectory bent toward him as the gravity of man pulls on all terrestrial bodies. She circled to cross the creek upstream where it was narrow and had not yet plunged into the ravine. Full speed the dog ran past him as if in resentful defiance, before skidding to turn and meet him in full smile, tongue curling with panted breaths, ears pressed but tail unrestrained, 

she returned to him.

For Chewy 11/29/2010 - 12/4/2013