Paisley Transformed

1.

It was hard to tell whether she was excited, or if it was just her tail. That projectile appendage slammed against the legs of the hallway table and shook the vase, but her body was otherwise still as she looked up at me, waiting.

"Yes, love. We're going camping. You're coming." I'm not sure why I bothered to talk to her. She never seemed to understand, but was always amenable, whatever happened. Whether she was allowed to come on these trips or not. Sometimes, it just wasn't in the cards. Maybe the hikes I'd be going on would be too strenuous for her to join, or maybe my boyfriend would be coming, and I'd reluctantly agree to board Paisley so that we could have more privacy, at his request.

There was no doubt in my mind that he wasn't a fan of her, particularly the way she would lean over us while I drove and sometimes her slobber would land on his arm below. He would scowl and look at her, then me, waiting for me to do something. But she's a dog, she slobbers. I'm starting to learn that maybe I'm not such a fan of him, and my eagerness to go camping with Paisley today is just one sign of many. Maybe there is some guilt lurking.

I put my hand on her lower back and she sits, her tail now sliding across the floor but sparing the table, and more importantly -- the vase. She looks so confused, and so sweet. It occurs to me, as if often does, that she's a bit boring, and perhaps not as smart as a dog well-suited to me would be. It's almost as if she doesn't care either way whether she ends up camping or in that big, metal boarding crate. But I know it matters, and I'm glad not to be leaving her this time. I'm frustrated with my own impatience, as I stare at her and sigh.

What an existence. The two of us.

2.

When we pull into the campground, it is dark and Paisley is panting. Even in the evening, even up in the high elevation of these mountains, it's still warm enough for me to be sweating, and Paisley to be doing the dog's equivalent.

She looks around, out each of the windows quickly, but I can tell she is doing more listening than looking. She paces the backseat as I unload the bags, pitch the tent. There is an owl that has been hooting on and off as I've been emptying the car, and the quiet whimper I hear lets me know it hasn't gone unnoticed by my sweet, silly girl.

"What a strange sound, huh, Paisley?" She looks at me as if in agreement, as if she has understood, for once. It seems almost as if she's annoyed with me now. Maybe it was a stupid thing to say. I close the trunk and walk around to open the door so she can hop out. But she does something so surprising and unlike her, leaping out to bolt. I'm nearly knocked the ground as she pushes past me and into the dark.

It's nearly midnight and with just the moon to see by, I can't tell where she's disappeared to. I hardly have a sense of direction, and my eyes are sore and unfocused from the hours of driving. I call for her and stand still, but hear nothing. She doesn't return. I run over to my suitcase in the tent, and rummage through the pockets. How have I forgotten my flashlight? She doesn't even have her collar on. Normally it doesn't matter. She would never run away. Was she chasing something? How will I hear her without the jingle?

I wander into the woods after her, calling but not too loudly. Dark and deep, I think. Hours before I sleep, I say to myself quietly, ears perked up. I pause every minute or so to stop walking and just listen. There is nothing to hear. No rustling. Just that occasional hoot of the owl, until even that stops.

3.

Suddenly, she is there. It is morning, but early, with the sun just peeking through the trees. Not even enough light to sense a warmth. I rise from the ground, and a damp leaf falls from my cheek.

There is no doubt it is her. Though she looks different.

Her hooves paw the ground and I sense a punishment to come. She'd only been waiting for her moment. She always understood me, and hated me for it. She is vengeance, no longer covered in the soft black fur of her canine corpus. She is a bull, and she is charging. I open my arms, knowing I deserve this. With only this one life, I've banished her to metal pens while I explored the wilderness and made love. A trip or two won't give her back those lost days, whining and alone, licking her paws for comfort.

My eyes open and she has forgiven me. The dream vanished, she is a dog once more, and is licking my face. A damp leaf falls from my other cheek as I rise, and the owl hoots once more at this dawn hour. Groggily, I look at her with a renewed appreciation, and respect. She stares back triumphant. I have not given her enough credit, and we both know it now. Message received. She is a creature of multitudes, and adventurous as I am, perhaps the perfect match for me. I'm left to wonder about her inner world as I stroke her forehead.