The winter mornings are dark. They are cold as well, but the cold can be resisted. A hat and pair of mittens do wonders in the frigid Michigan air. The dog doesn’t mind at all, her winter coat still thick and full.
The routine is as sure as the rising of the sun. Awake slowly within 15 minutes of 6am. Shuffle to the bathroom for toilet, shower, and sink. Emerge awake and alive, mind coming online as I dress in the dark. I come down the stairs as lightfooted as a middle aged overweight man can muster, and turn on the landing to see the pup, sitting in the dark, waiting. Her tail wags, her muscles taut, ready to sniff out a world of peers and prey. Socks and shoes go on and she circles my position. The longer I take, the tighter the circle becomes. When I rise, the circle breaks. She bounds to where her leash hangs, leading me to her desired outcome. I take it from the hutch and she flees from me, jumping onto the arm of the couch to get locked in. She waits until she hears the latch click, so she knows for certain she is on leash. But she doesn’t jump down. Not yet. She waits for me to wipe the sleep from her eyes, and then we are out in the dark to explore the neighborhood.
Usually, she is down the steps, off the porch, and down the front path of our home before I have the door closed. Her joy of being outside pulls me forward, and I hold her leash tightly with my strong right hand. Usually, when I turn around, she is already merging onto the neighborhood sidewalk to begin our journey. Usually.
But this day, I turn around and she is at the foot of the stairs. The leash has plenty of line, but she does not pull it. She is poised and tight, her body tense as she stares at my truck parked on the curb. I know enough to know what her body language speaks. There is no way she sees something, so it must be a smell. Her nose points to my black truck, which is faintly illumined by a streetlight 40 feet down and across the street.
“What is it girl?”
I take a step forward, which gives her permission to do the same. A growl rises quietly from within her chest. I lock the leash, and pull my arm closer to my body. She has pulled my wife and children off their feet when chasing a squirrel or rabbit. I have learned to use my muscles to stop her instead of my joints.
“What do you smell?”
We advance down the front path, towards the front curb of the house. I have only one fear at this moment. Sunny the supermutt has broken three leashes in three years. She broke out to attack a mother goose and her goslings. She broke out chasing two little dogs of our brand new neighbor, sending us into search parties to find the little cockapoo. If she goes hard after this animal, I hope the leash holds.
Her rigid body finally explodes. She runs to the very end of the leash, my flexed arm ready for her weight to jerk me forward. My arm holds. The leash holds. Sunny barks the bark of death. She longs for the chase, for the capture, for blood and the end of all rodents.
I am waiting for the animal to come scurrying out from under the truck. When the dog charges, her prey runs. That is how the world works. This morning, the scene doesn’t go that way at all. I see the shadow under the truck move. The barking has disturbed its slumber, and it awakens. But it doesn’t run. There is no awful panic and fleeing. The thing wakes the way I wake up, slow and without fear. The shape moves slowly as it leaves the shelter of my truck. Sunny and I strafe left to get a view of it, but the darkness hides its identity. It is big. I can see that as it crosses the street to Princess Leia’s house. I stare at it as it swaggers away. I am amazed by its lack of fear. It’s more annoyed than afraid. There is an opposum that lives under neighbor Rico’s back porch, a real mutant looking thing. I saw it once up close when I was out back thinking, and it came lumbering by. This shadow creature isn’t that. The possum had grey fur, and its eyes reflected light. This thing was swallowed in darkness, and no light that fell upon it ever escaped.
Sunny kept barking, and I just stared after it in awe.
There are scenes in horror movies, when a noise upstairs captures the attention of the young attractive teen. My wife has uttered aloud, “Just leave. What are they thinking?” This makes me smile. I know exactly what they are thinking. They have to know. They have to know if a broom fell down in the closet, or if the psycho killer is up there behind the shower curtain. The not knowing is worse than being knifed. I had to know what this creature was. And God help me, I was gonna find out.
To be continued…