Four Scenes with Pit Bull

Otis was lying on the couch when I walked in the room.
You did it, didn’t you? he said.
Don’t start, I said.
How could you do it? You had everything you needed. Was your life so difficult?
We make mistakes, I said. Remember? You crapped on the carpet two nights ago. Mistakes.
You fed me cottage cheese, he pointed out.
Still, I said.
He shook his head. You did it.

We went for a walk in the woods. I took off his leash and he ran down the cedar bark trail, a huge toothy smile on legs. Just run, his smile said, just run, just run, just feel the beauty of running! I ran after him in my thick hiking boots, and felt young.

At the ballfield he refused to return the tennis balls I threw.
That’s not the game, I said. I throw them, you bring them back. You know this.
He scoffed. Why be a slave to convention?
I was at a loss for words. Because that’s not the game, I finally said.
He ran in ever widening circles, holding a tennis ball.
You…can’t…catch…me.

Otis was lost in the woods. I called out his name; it echoed across the valley. Three men in florescent yellow jackets were putting cedar bark on the trail and I asked them if they’d seen a brown and white dog, running. They hadn’t. I walked back and forth across the valley, calling his name.