PROMPTLY WRITTEN
Dogs Always Know
We don’t always want to follow a dog’s nose, but we follow them anyway
When out walking the dog, we usually turn left when we get to the end of our street. But today I decided to turn right. I gave Mango a little tug on the leash and he came along willingly. He’s always up for a walking adventure. Immediately he found new things to sniff. Trees, fence posts, an abandoned sneaker. (For all the times he finds a shoe or a glove on the side of the road, I’m always terrified for a second that the corresponding body part will still be inside it. So far, they’ve been empty.)
I’d driven down this stretch of road a few times, but there’s nothing there so not much reason to drive in this direction. Town and the highway are in the other direction. I knew there were some old abandoned houses and big empty fields and that’s it. No fan of ticks, I’ve tried to avoid the overgrown grass on this end of the neighborhood.
The shoulder along the road is narrow, but there were no cars going by. It was so quiet, just the buzz of summer insects, that I would have heard any cars coming. But I couldn’t even hear the faint rumble from the distant highway.
I glanced at the sky and knew we shouldn’t be out too much longer, with thunderheads inching closer. But Mango was obsessed with smelling this new route. He was having so much fun I didn’t have the heart to make him turn toward home yet. Getting rained on wouldn’t be the end of the world.
We came to an old wooden fence marking a property line along the road. Mango had his nose to the ground. By the time we got to the gate, rain was starting to sprinkle down. I gave Mango a little tug and said “Let’s go home.” He looked up at me but didn’t take a step. He turned back to the fence.
The wind picked up and the sky became dark. The storm moved in more quickly than I thought it would. “Come on, buddy, let’s go,” I said, with another tug on the leash. He still refused to step in my direction. He pulled himself up to standing on his hind legs, front feet resting on the gate. The rotten wood gave way slightly, and the 50 pounds of solid muscle that is this stubborn pit bull mix tumbled forward, pulling me with him.
A few step beyond the gate, in an overgrown garden, the rain became a down pour. Mango continued with his nose to the ground, while I followed along, watching for poison ivy and wondering if we could get some protection from the rain under the big tree near the front porch of a crumbling old house. I didn’t want to actually step onto the porch, afraid the floor would break under my feet. I was already soaked from the rain pouring down and the long wet grass around my legs but no matter how much I tugged at Mango, I couldn’t get him to turn around toward home.
He reached the porch steps and stopped his forward momentum. He started sniffing back and forth along the bottoms step. I figured I may as well sit on that step. It was somewhat sheltered due to both the tree and the porch roof. And it looked solid enough.
Mango was in a real fix now, dashing back and forth as far as the leash would allow, stopping to look at me for help every few seconds. But I didn’t know what he wanted from me. Finally he laid down at my feet. I patted his head as he stared at a spot just in front of him. I followed his eyes.
Sticking out from under the porch was A sneaker matching the one we’d seen on the side of the road. But it was soaked in blood.
Courtesy of today’s prompt from Promptly Written:
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