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.