Fergie the greyhound barked furiously at a goose. The goose, which wore a yellow raincoat and matching floppy hat, didn’t react since it was made of stone. Ben laughed.
“I don’t think he’s a threat, Ferg.”
The other greyhound, Stoney, drooled as he panted, standing at Ben’s side. They were all the way around the block from the dogs’ apartment. Ben had decided to go left instead of right at the corner, to change up the walk a little, and Fergie was royally spooked by all the new sights and sounds. Stoney was his stoic, unflappable self, though a lot slower than Ben would like. He was getting old. Ben had added ten minutes to his daily schedule to account for Stoney going up and down the stairs. Speaking of…
“C’mon, dogs. We gotta head back.”
Fergie gave up on the goose and stepped forward. Stoney didn’t.
“Let’s go, Stoney.” Ben tugged on the leash.
Stoney squatted to poop, smack in the middle of the sidewalk. He actually hadn’t gone yet, which was unusual for a greyhound and especially abnormal for Stoney. Ben whipped out a bag and slipped it over his hand.
Darkness burst forth from the dog’s bowels, a liquid nightmare, a colossal and nameless blasphemy against nature, endless in its torment and destruction, the likes of which Ben had never seen and would not soon forget. He and Fergie could only stare. When it was over, Stoney trotted past them and tugged the leash towards home. The loathsome puddle slowly expanded.
Ben frowned at the wildly insufficient plastic bag on his hand. He shoved it back in his pocket.
“Maybe it’ll rain.”