Dog

 

A long way off, across the open strand;

small, minute even, a couple walking a dog.

Picturesque and cute somehow, those dark

shapes across the deserted expanse of sand.

And as we stand there looking, the dog starts

to run in our direction. Tiny at first but building

into a shape we recognize, a pit bull coming

arrow-straight in our direction. She sees it early,

recognizes the breed, knows it’s coming, crossing

that quarter of a mile directly for her and she is

petrified.

And it does, and jumps around her, now a frozen

stump. The dog persists, not aggressive but it is

a pit bull and she is terror-stricken. 

Across the strand, a quarter of a mile off, the couple 

watch their puppy: cute, miniaturised with distance, playing

with strangers. And perhaps, just maybe, one of them is nonchalantly 

running a dog lead through a half-closed hand.