8:07 a.m., Saturday, January 13, 2018
Dogs somewhere up the valley — three of them, if I hear correctly. One
hammers its bark, bark, bark drumbeat; another moans its sotto voce
personal agony accompaniment to the lead growler’s dark warnings
toward any who might seek to exploit this sudden vulnerability. No!
Way! Jo! Se!
Then they all stop.
The pause evokes a feeling of uncertainty toward an empty future,
filled only eventually by a solo coda, a surprisingly gentle
authentication signature, a loyal canine’s “. . . forever and ever,
A passenger jet on slow approach.