Dog Dreams

by Les

A noise disturbs the dog. He raises his head from where he lies on his side, ears pricked like antennae, but returns to sleep when nothing happens. The way his neck falls has you thinking of the fish he’s eaten, the limpness of their bodies before being torn apart. Without awareness, it seems, all creatures are soft. His ears are down and his paws poised to snatch the air, awaiting the cue of dreams. So much goes on while the fish bits are becoming stomach paste, nutrients seeping into his bloodstream. The rest is for flux. Other mouths will attach themselves to his waste. When he wakes, eager for play, it will be as though all the life force of the universe were in his tail–a diaspora of dust motes. Then the movement will wind down, and the inertia of animal dreams shall filter to the littlest living things, which you cannot see, and which are all mouth, hungry as the darkness inside trash bins.