Dogged

The stranger foretells the end of the world and there is general agreement.

Bing. The all-too-familiar dinging sound, and an instant scoop of Pavlovian irritation heaped into the milk of my guts. I look up. A new email. Run, cries the soul; duty, pleads the mind. The mind wins. The mind always wins.

The dog is on the ground, gnawing at some tangling of rubber cords like he is supposed to. When he chews through this I will acquire him another, lest he stray too far into independent thought.

The email is from a superior, in as many commas as I can possibly invert. My head sinks to the table as I read it. Human stupidity is lead, and I am weighed down, perpetually poisoned. I look back to my phone, the neon window in my lap. A momentary escape... a moment...

The Amazon rainforest is being cleared faster than at any point in human history.

The email. I am supposed to be working. Behind me, the dog releases his toy and stands, gazing at nothing – a penny for his thoughts. I read the words again, trying to swallow, to digest. The content clumps, glugs and sogs, but fails to dissolve.

I cannot stomach this.

“Walk,” I tell the dog, and he understands freedom when he sees the harness, instantly keen to escape the mundane indoors. Socks. Wallet. Keys. Mask. Treats. Lead. Phone. Just quickly...

Australian police can now modify and delete your data without a warrant.

Shoes. Need to put on my fucking shoes. The laces flick-flop this way and that, and the dog has never seen something so exciting in all his mayfly life. I try to peel him off with toys and toss but he’s laser‑focused when it’s to his detriment. Get out of your own way I tell him – the walk will come sooner.

We are laced, clipped, masked, secure, and out the door at a distinguished trot. He wants to follow the rules, and knows how to, it’s just...

A man screams frenzied threats at a woman trying to save his life and demands she give him horse de‑wormer.

The lift doors close, and for a brief, hanging moment, we are sealed off. The dog eyes the doors suspiciously, peels out a warning growl. Why. We do this every day, twice even, and every time the same benevolent result. If madness is expecting variation in repetition, what is suspicion? A lingering sub-sane edge.

Seconds pass. My traitor eyes flick downwards. No bars. A pinch of unbidden disappointment is immediately swallowed by simmering frustration, flavoured far more with disgust than deprivation.

Loading- Loading-

Out the elevator, into the hall, the street. The afternoon skies are a picnic blanket of blue and dandelions and there is a swelling crispness to our breathing. I exist, the world whispers on our skin, and it is hard to doubt her benevolence. The dog sets the pace, it knows how to do this, this walking thing; the trick is simply not to...

Stop. Smell. Here. Come on; yes of course, just let me- stop. Here. Taste. What now? Can you; sure, we must keep going, we’ll never- stop.

“Walk straight,” I implore him, and on some level he understands, but there are just so many distractions. Irresistible, though we’ve walked this way a hundred times. Surely by now he’d know nothing’s there, nothing comes of it, only dirt, only disappointment.

A stretch of grass, a patch of dust. He lays down, belly flat, resisting entreaties to move, really engaging with this one. This would be easier, I tell him, if you'd just walk straight like you’re supposed to. The journey wouldn’t be so arduous.

Well, we’re stopped so...

The damage from climate change is incomprehensible and our leaders are doing nothing about it.

“Come on,” I tug at the dog.

Three blocks to the park, not far, not insubstantial. At each road-crossing I call and the dog races alongside me, ears flat, eyes forward. These are the fleeting moments of synergy – this is danger, clarity, immediate action, a problem, a solution, a task to embrace. We cross side-by-side and let momentum carry us forward, running for the rush. To be alive.

“Get the lead out!” I yell, spurring forward. We are moving. We-

The dog jerks sideways, braking wildly. Wait: an upturned cup.

Back to zero.

We had a good thing going, I grumble, as he sniffs and paws and prods at it; why stop for ice cream?

All men are scum. The whore deserved it. Kill the degenerates. You’re a bigot if you won’t fuck me.

“Leave it alone,” I warn, spying hints of chocolate. I pull firmly on the leash. “It’s poison.”

We reach the park and the dog wriggles with excitement. I am an angler, I feel, reeling a most energetic catch.

“Come on,” I encourage, “Let’s find your friends.” We walk some way and spot a companion. A greeting, sure, then unclip-unclip and our charges race away. My knotted guts dissolve to warm water, and my heart vicariously swells.

These are his moments of freedom, his brief windows of joy. I cannot begrudge them, not the work, not anything. This was what it should be, what it should have been, before we caged him – running, playing, wonder, friends. This is his purpose for being.

It will be four percent of his entire existence, if you do the maths.  

The average house price rose $103,000 in the last 12 months. The average wage rose 0.1%.

Darkness falls. The walk ends. He is reluctant to return. I drag, entice, cajole him back to his homely prison. Run, cries his soul; duty, pleads my mind.

The mind always wins.

Another day. We sit at home in the quiet anticlimax. He lays with his head on his hands, staring at nothing.

No, say the powerful. We have investigated ourselves and found no evidence of corruption.

Do you feel it? The madness, the atrophy, the crumbling chalk behind your teeth? I do not ask and the dog does not answer; only stares at me with tired, empty eyes.

Tomorrow will be identical.