Monday, May 14, 2012

Wild dogs

Eight galloping feet thunder over the packed dirt path, tear at the cropped grass, kicking up clods behind them. They slosh into puddles and squelch through mud. They crash amongst tall dried grasses from last season and send saplings clattering together as they bully their way through the tightly packed spaces of the new growth forest. There’s the snap, crack of branches, the splintering crackle of wood, the patter of water sprayed from the ends of a million hairs, and the general splash, crash of Jack and Murdoch at large in the woods in spring.


  1. Night-black Murdoch, blurred by speed, flying straight at me full charge, mouth open, teeth shining with saliva, eyes sharply focused . . . and I wake up screaming. Hmmmmm . . . And, then, there's gentleman Jack.

    1. Yes, Murdoch can be somewhat beastly, and Jack really is a gentleman. They compliment each other rather nicely.