Blue-eyed Dog

(Flash Fiction) "A couple with a child turned the corner, and as they passed the scene the young mother pulled her baby behind her and glared."

Photo by Annie Hendrix of Osha Neumann’s nameless sculptural work at Albany Bulb, referred to commonly as “Beseeching Woman”

When Margo arrived on the peninsula Blue-eyed Dog was there again, tongue hanging out, corners of his mouth upturned as if smiling. They greeted each other using a nonverbal language she shared not only with him, but with other creatures that lacked speech. Others like her.

“This way, Margo,” her mother called, and though she would have rather hiked down to the peninsula and paid a visit to Blue-eyed Dog, she turned immediately to catch up. Margo had no way to express her desire that wouldn’t result in her mother’s frustration, or worse—a cancelation of the day’s events. She had learned it was easier to obey.

They followed the same hiking path they took every Sunday through the oak woodland adjacent to the shore. Every week, the width of the trail decreased slightly due to the encroachment of invasive Ehrharta grass.

“This grass isn’t even supposed to be here,” her mother said. “Uncle Ray said it escaped from the lab where Craig used to work. What a nuisance!” Margo understood quite a lot of what her mother was expressing. She understood the emphatic gestures, exasperated tone, mention of Uncle Ray and his friend Craig, and the words “grass,” “here,” “lab,” and “escape.”

The trees became sparse and the path opened up onto an overlook. Blue-eyed Dog was there again, sitting in the sand near the driftwood sculpture of a woman. Margo had always admired the sculpture. She thought it looked as though the woman were carrying something of great importance, though her arms were empty.

“There’s that stray again. How did it get over here?” Margo’s mother asked, but Margo was already eyeing a crescent-shaped section of raised earth that connected the peninsula to the beach.

“It shouldn’t be out here off-leash.” Margo’s mother pulled out her phone and took a picture of Blue-eyed Dog. “I should call animal control.”

Margo made noises and flapped her hands.

“Stop that,” her mother grabbed Margo’s wrists and looked around to make sure no one had seen the abnormal behavior.

Margo made her hands into fists, stared at the ground, and took repeated short sips of air to try to calm down. A couple with a child turned the corner, and as they passed the scene the young mother pulled her baby behind her and glared.

“Okay, let’s go.” Her mother put her hands on Margo’s shoulders and physically turned her in the direction of the parking lot. Margo screeched and shook off her mother’s grasp. She ran through the grass toward the edge of the overlook, the steep drop off a twenty-foot fall down a rocky slope to the beach.

“Margo!” Her mother cried and ran to save her, but Margo stopped just short of the ledge. She locked eyes with the rogue dog below, and as her mother fished in her purse for Margo’s behavioral medication, she extended her arms and said goodbye—perhaps for the last time—to Blue-eyed Dog.