Lickers

The man said he found his dog on the front porch one November, right before Thanksgiving. He said it was the truth, and that if he wanted to tell lies he’d’ve said Christmas, or Easter, or one of the other healing holidays. It caught me off guard, certainly, understand. While he went into a description of his dogs capabilities I stood there sockless at my front door trying to capture “healing holidays.” Ash Wednesday maybe? Independence Day probably made people feel better, especially recent immigrants. What about Valentine’s Day? Me, I always felt ultimately worthless and destroyed on Valentine’s Day—not healed in any human conception. I couldn’t pay attention right off. The dog appeared to be part shepherd, part beagle, part Lab. Nothing special. She had long black and brown hair, flopped ears, legs a little too short for her body. The dog made decent eye contact, panted, and let her fat tongue loll out long to one side or the other.

“If you’d like to see some snapshots, I got them. And official documentation,” the man said. “I have witnesses and phone numbers.”