Who Let the Dogs Out? I Did!

This week my chapbook, The Mortality of Dogs and Humans, launches. It’s available now, but Saturday is the official launch date. I want to celebrate by sharing a few photos of the pups who star in the book as well as a story about Pongo, one that is not included in the chapbook.

Most of the chapbook centers on Fletcher and Zainy and our journey through their lives, which were a gift to me. Here I share a quick story about Pongo, so named by my then three-year-old son, after the Disney character. Our neighborhood was less than ideal for walking dogs.

Pongo, Some Teen Guys, and a Rock

On a spring holiday, I had the opportunity to walk with the stroller midday. I thought to go along the edge of the neighborhood and head toward the middle school, where, if no one was near, I could run with Pongo around the field a few times. After that, we’d go to the tiny park—really just a small sandlot—that bordered the school, and I could push the kids on the swings before heading back. I walked along the loose dirt edge of an abandoned vineyard, next to the street that escaped our neighborhood. On the other side of the pavement was the long block wall that acted as a neighborhood dividing line. Behind it were houses. 

I was enjoying the midday sun, thinking that despite the nearby dairy preserve with its inescapable stink, the day had a bit of charm. I had my boys, my dog, and a few free hours before heading back to grade papers. I heard the gunning of a car behind me. Before I could turn around, I felt a sharp pain in my left buttock, so severe that it brought me to my knees. I watched a sedan full of teen boys, a few hanging out the windows, racing past me, laughing and pointing.

When I was able to stand, I saw they had thrown a rock at me, about the size of an orange. It lay directly behind my foot. The speed of the car must have contributed velocity to the projectile. A lump was already forming on my rear. I turned around and hobbled home. Looking in the mirror, I saw a hematoma the size of a large grapefruit. One of my friends suggested I file a police report in case the boys were going around and assaulting women all over the area. But I knew they wouldn’t be caught. Moreover, I’ve always had some version of body dysmorphia and was afraid the police would ask for a photo of my swollen and bruised ass. 

Not for the first time after a walk had gone wrong, I was up all night playing out scenarios. What if the rock had missed me, if it had been thrown a second later? In the stroller, my son’s head was just at the level to take the hit. Would it have damaged his brain? What kind of guys were those in that car who didn’t stop to imagine the possible consequences of their actions?

After that, to have a bit of play time with the kids, I’d stop on the drive home from daycare at a small park funded by the association fees of a neighborhood adjacent to ours, hoping no one would realize we didn’t belong there. I continued to walk and jog when I could, but alone. After being bitten by a benign looking off-leash golden retriever—and then being threatened and flipped off by the owner after I said the dog had to be leashed—I carried a souvenir baseball bat with me, the eighteen-inch kind sold at stadium gift shops. Pongo’s walks and time outside the house and yard were negligible. And while he regularly enjoyed playing with the three boys out back, deeply intrigued by their loading Tonka trucks full of sand and dumping it a few feet away, I felt persistent guilt, believing he wasn’t getting the kind of exercise a dog his size needed. 

Coming Up

I want to celebrate the dogs one more time. After that, I’ll be back on myths and ancient gods. Meanwhile: the chapbook can be ordered from all the usual suspects. You can also go directly to the publisher to order a copy. If you like the cover image of Zainy, please check out the website of the artist here and also her Etsy site, which has paintings for sale.