Weird Shorts | Page 9

contemplated what I'd be doing, if I weren't headed to a funeral. Fruitful, huh?
One of the things I like to do, as I drive, is look for dogs in other vehicles. I really don't like to see them in the beds of pickup trucks, unless they're tied up, but I look for them from behind my wheel. Dumbly enough, I figure that they'll hear me, if they're cute enough.
I'd been driving on Arlen Avenue for about ten minutes when I spotted him. This was a particularly and typically crowded Arlen Avenue and I was very late and very frustrated, as I considered which of the two lanes would get me there any quicker than the other.
Sitting in the left lane, I spot a really rough looking, must have been thirty year old, greenish pick-up truck. The truck had a patchy, if not antiquated paint job and the guy driving it was pretty scary. I couldn't see him, but I knew that he was scary. I could see his slicked-back, black hair and white t-shirt, after all.
There was something about the dog that compelled me to stare outright.
After an initial glance of recognition, I look again at the dog and realize that there's something about his eyes that isn't quiet right. I don't know what it is, so I look a third time. I am focusing on his eyes this time. I am getting too close to the bumper of the car in front of me, so I back off a little and try to look into the dogs eyes.
Finally, I do look into the dogs' eyes and he goes nuts! It's like he knows that I'm looking into his soul. He's barking and fussing and foaming and trying to snap off of his chain and maul me, right there on the street. He's pulling furiously at the chain that constrains him and I envision a non-King Arthur, trying to remove the sword from the stone.
Realizing that the dog has been demonized and that there is extreme tension between our spirits, I focus once again on the road and on not getting the t-shirt's attention.
Two minutes later, I am pulling into the funeral home parking lot, which is overrun with other vehicles. I do a brisk walk into the home and stand at the back door, overlooking an overflowing parlor.
Signing the guest log, I look around for a seat and find one in the waiting room, where others, are also sitting.
PREHISTORIC HARE
Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack. Clack.
Typing away on the computer, I barely noticed Sacchi's gentle pawing. She's needing to go outside and I am her caretaker and friend. She's the last of any Chow-Chow that I will ever own again and my love for her has grown quite tender since my last Chow's passing.
Rubbing her ears, I acknowledge her request and proceed to the front door. Trouncing along behind us is the other requestor. She's barking with excitement and can hardly wait for me to affix my hand to Sacchi's collar, so that I may secure her to a line, once we're outside.
It's dark and foggy outside and stepping onto the porch, something odd is marauding my senses. My immediate concern is to secure each dog onto a line, which I do.
Standing erect, (I'm very posture conscious) I look around and remember that a few seconds ago, I was sensing something strange. It sounds juvenile, but that's what I felt.
Sacchi was barking at unseen beings -- perhaps there was a cat under my truck or across the street? Mixie too, was having a verbal fit. I couldn't get a fix on who was looking at whom, but then I realized that if I could alter my vista, via spiritual eyes, then I might be able to see what my dogs are seeing.
In an instant, I see what I feel to be a prehistoric hare dashing across my porch, into the driveway and out across the street. There are trees everywhere and we're surrounded by forest.
It was just too weird, so I release the scenery and come back to the moment -- the real one -- according to most everyone else.

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