From Roger's story- "My Stuff"
It's good to talk to a dog, tell them stories. They pick up more than you think. I tell Doris things. I tell her about Jake skating between my legs, and how soccer season is over. No more games, I say.
We walk along the tracks and there are things I want to tall her that I don't know words for. "Look, look," I say, pointing to the sky. Millions of stars. Millions. I sit on the rails, pull Doris to my side. Doris puts her cheek, smooth and soft, against mine, her breath warm, our eyes on the night sky. Orion, Lyra, The Big Dipper. I show her Polaris, the North star, and explain that it's the one to use if she's ever lost.
The cold from the rail I'm sitting on creeps through my pants, my butt goes tingly then numb, and I tell Doris it's time for us to move on. Six in the morning, stumbling down the tracks, me and Doris, chunky gravel loose undefoot, cold December kicking off Lake Erie. The moon huge at the end of the rails.
Doris. What a dog. I could say, fetch moon, and she'd try. She'd bounce on those hind legs and snap at the cold night air until she passed out. I could tell Doris to fetch the moon but I don't. Doris is young and doesn't understand distance.
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