in the rain
It’s 2:30 in the afternoon. The dogs are psyched. I’m psyched. We’re walking, and I’m home from work early. It’s raining, but not too hard. Daisy’s wearing her jacket, maroon fleece, with a fluffy leopard-print fleece collar. And we’re walking. I have my Hiroshima Carp hat on, a replica of the 1949 Carp cap in wool. Dexter finds a procession of sticks, each the best stick ever, and dances away ahead of us, always just to the end of his lead, but never so far that he pulls.
Ahead, spreading from one side of the street to the other, are birds-starlings-and there must be over 100. They’re all over the grass on both sides of the street, scurrying around eating. Dexter loves it. Sticks are forgotten, now it’s all about the birds. Daisy doesn’t notice at first, then sees Dexter, puffed and fierce, she sees them.
We’re getting closer now. The starlings lift off all at once, a cloud of feathers falling up. Then they’re on the wires above us, watchin. Dexter dances, his attention already on the patch of dirt ahead. Daisy barks, staring up. I encourage her to keep moving. She runs ahead as far as the lead will allow, then stops and stares up again and barks We’re moving past them, and the starlings slowly begin to drop back to the grass, though some fly off. They too are moving on.
The dogs are psyched. I’m psyched. In the rain.
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