A Shaggy Dog Tale

Cassidy Forrest

A Shaggy Dog Tale

I watched her move her mouth, and form words. The sound that came out blended with the noise of clattering dishes being brought back and forth from the kitchen, and the sounds of the other patrons that coughed and sighed, chuckled, and passed gas. Past her oval face, and out through the giant glaring windows, sat the silhouette of a dog. The blackness of its shadow kept its face hidden, and its features stood pressed two dimensionally against the glass plane. She noticed my gaze, and asked in a quite voice:

“Is that your dog?”

“It was when I woke up this morning.”

“What’s changed?”

I was going to reply to her question, but didn’t think she would understand.

“I was asleep before that”

The lack of a reasonable answer brought her to silence, that led her eyes back to the half eaten plate of food that sat before her.

I decided I owed her a better answer, something she could tolerate, and end this ugly awkward silence.

“I don’t know what that dog was doing last night.”

“Sleeping, I suppose.” she said.

“Maybe” I replied. “But maybe it was out on the town”

“Out on the town?” she asked.

“That certain animal, the one sitting out there on the sidewalk, plays with boundaries.”

The dog’s silhouette became narrow as it looked in at us. I could tell it detected the conversation had turned to a more permanent subject of who it was.

“I don’t understand,” she said calmly.

“Nether does it,” I said. “The rules of an animal seem to not concern it.”

“Does it run away?”

“No” I said.

“Does it beg?”

“No”

“Bite?”

“No”

“Tear up furniture?”

“No” I laughed.

“You are listing what would make it an animal.”

She went back into silence, and back to the plate of half eaten food.

I was about to console her, and perhaps even explain myself, when the dog started barking.

The dark etching of the animal stood up in front of window, and the bright light of the afternoon sun bore out the profile of its legs and tail. It hacked a noise into the air, which brought the attention of the restaurants crowd to its horrible disturbance.

“Should you do something?” She slightly demanded.

“I should,” I said.

I turned to my glass of water, and started to drink it. As the liquid lessoned, I began to peer with one eye through the cold ice and obscure bottom of my glass, out past the window, and watched the barking dog for change. I waited until the animal saw me, and it suddenly went into a dramatic silence.

I finished what was left in the cup, and tilted it back until the ice broke, and fell into my teeth. The waiter refilled it: new ice, and new water, and I watched the white paper below the glass turn grey from the condensation.

“Did it stop because you ignored it?” She asked, looking back at the animal.

“No.” I said.

“Is it thirsty? Was it asking for water?”

“No.” I said, and laughed again. “You’re applying human characteristics to an animal.”

“I thought you said it isn’t an animal?”

At that, the dog leapt at the window, crashing into the glass and startling every person in the restaurant. Glasses were dropped, and light startled screams were spurt out and the dog viciously ground it’s teeth into the see-through glass plane.

“It’s…not…” I said.

The dog kept barking, and lashing about.

“IT’S NOT AN ANIMAL!” I yelled, slightly standing to make sure the dog saw my eyes.

“NOT AN ANIMAL!”

People were turning away from the ferocious canine, and looking towards my date and I.

“NOT…AN…ANIMAL!”

I was over pronouncing my words now. Letting my mouth make exaggerated movements so the dog could see every syllable. Finally it stopped, and being watched by every pair of eyes in the room, I sat back down in my chair and looked at my date.

“Sorry about that, it doesn’t like to be stereotyped.”

She was staring at her water, pondering something deep in the ice that wasn’t really there.

“Maybe…” She said.

“Maybe you should take it home.”

I laughed.

“Have you ever owned a dog?”

“No.” She said.

I leaned back in my chair. I thought my last comment had made her see the arrogance in such a question.

“I think I better be going.” She said.

“No dessert?” I asked politely.

“No.” She said.

The waiter had been prompt with the water, so I left a generous tip. In my opinion, the swiftness with water delivery is the defining line between family, and fine dinning.

We walked out to the curb, and she did not attempt to pet the dog. I was glad for this.

“Well…that was nice,” she said rather hesitantly.

“I agree.”

“See you around.”

She turned, and without looking back, walked down the street.

I looked at the dog, and it looked at me.

“No luck.” I said.

The dog watched her walk away, and then without making a sound, started walking home. I followed.

Cassidy Forrest Copyright 2009