On dogs and decisions

today is one big dreamy lazy mood

You spy a coal colored dog
Dreaming
Curled up on a plain rug

Swirly making decisions

It’s Saturday afternoon and I’m sitting on the couch looking across the room out the glass slider door. Brown oak leaves dangle from the bare branches and dance. My spouse Janyce is sitting upright beside me in her typical perfect posture.

“What’s this?” I say. “A new playlist?”

“Yeah, just listen,” she says. “It’s called the chill mix. I don’t love everything in it, but most of it’s good.”

“Hey, I like this one,” I say, getting mesmerized by the steady crackling beat of Massive Attack’s Teardrop.

Now way past morning coffee, we’re both simply hanging around. Outside the day is growing more and more overcast and drizzly. This Saturday is turning out to be one big dreamy lazy mood. The two of us have been on the couch most of the day, our laptops open, eating platefuls of eggs and avocado and grain bowls with chicken. And for all our talking and deciding, we haven’t moved much. The only exception was a long walk we took after breakfast with the dog outside on the windy beach, the wan sun intermittently poking out from behind the clouds.

Early December on Cape Cod is mostly silent and cold. But this year, it’s still mild out with glints of yellow flashing from grasses that whip flat against the sand. The beach was pretty much empty, too, and we were glad for it. We were able to let go of the leash and let our dog run full out down the long path, her ears flapping backwards and her powerful muscled legs kicking up sand behind her. We think Swirly knew we were driving to the cape last night as we packed the car with everything from our refrigerator, filled the trunk with all of my unwashed laundry from the week, and tossed her bag of food and leashes beside her. She didn’t tremble once on the two-hour car ride, her nose pointed down to the floor in the backseat.

It’s the start of the holiday season, end of the year, months of darkness on the horizon. We’re making decisions.

“Hey, we were invited to a New Year’s Eve party,” I say.

“Yeah? You want to go?” says Janyce.

“I think we need a party this year, don’t you?” I say. “How about a hotel room in Salem, too? I’ll book it right now.”

“Guess what,” says Janyce, not moving her eyes from her laptop. “Because I put your writing class on my credit card, we now have over two grand worth of travel miles.”

“Alaska in 2024,” I say.

“Alaska in 2024,” says Janyce.

I sink back into the pillows and continue dreamily looking out at the back trees. A steady rain is now beginning to fall and the playlist has turned to jazz. A trumpet trills out a few spare notes. We’ve stopped talking and Swirls has jumped up on the couch to press her back up against my hip and let out a deep sigh. I reach one hand to pet her fur in rhythmic strokes.

Last week, I saw our dog staring out the bedroom window seemingly deep in thought. I wondered a minute about what she could be thinking.

I read a poem this morning and immediately thought of wet skies in Scotland on our honeymoon, a day very much like today. I remember us stepping in from the windy mist of the late afternoon Highlands weather to hunker down in the dark corner of a pub, the brick wall smudged in soot from the coal-burning stove. I love what is going on in this poem. How the writer makes decisions and constantly interchanges a handful of words rich in imagery all on their own— chimney, smoke, coal, clouds, dreams and windows— to conjure up new fantasies of the mind. It’s a moody piece. Kind of like today. I like to think of it as the daydreams of my dog.

Kathryn Paulson

COAL SMOKE

Through an open window
You spy a coal colored dog
Dreaming
Curled up on a plain rug
Smoke billows from the chimney
Silvery clouds floating in the sky
 
Silvery windows frame
Coal smoke floating in the sky
The plain dog curled up by the chimney
An open rug billows
Through clouds and dreams
Like a spy
 
A spy opens a window
And curls up a coal colored rug
The plain chimney floats clouds
Through the dog’s dreams
Smoke billows
Silvery sky
 
The plain clouds curl through a coal colored sky
The window and chimney opened
The silver dog spies
Dreams float, billowing
On a rug of smoke