Meditale : The Day The Dog Went Walkies

The dog had always walked beside the fool.

Not behind,

Not ahead,

Just beside.

The fool never asked where they were going,

And the dog never asked why.

The road unfurled itself out of habit.

Dust,

Stones,

The odd sprig of grass pushing up through a crack in the world.

But one morning the dog stopped.

The fool didn't notice at first.

He was distracted by a cloud that looked briefly like a ladder.

The dog sniffed the air.

There was something new in it.

Not danger,

Not food,

Not home.

But possibility.

A tug that didn't come from the road at all.

So the dog stepped sideways.

Nothing dramatic happened.

The world did not end.

The fool did not fall.

The dog simply wasn't next to him anymore.

He padded downhill and found a man standing at a table that had never been there before.

The table was covered in objects.

Cups,

Blades,

Coins,

And a wand humming faintly as if remembering fire.

The man looked up and smiled,

As though he'd been expecting exactly this interruption.

Ah,

Said the magician,

You've been out walking.

The dog wagged his tail.

His paws were filthy,

Earth packed between the pads,

Spores clinging to the fur,

And a small beetle riding unnoticed behind one ear.

The magician knelt.

Let's see what you've gathered.

He took the dog's paws gently and scraped away the dirt.

What fell onto the table didn't look like dirt anymore.

It shimmered faintly,

Rearranging itself into patterns the dog didn't recognize but trusted nonetheless.

The fungi became ideas.

The moss became patience.

The beetle became a question with wings.

The magician worked carefully,

Humming to himself,

Occasionally nodding as if something had gone exactly right.

When he was done,

The dog's paws were clean.

Too clean.

The dog looked up uneasy.

Oh no,

Said the magician,

Reading the look perfectly.

I'm not keeping any of this.

He wrapped the transformed materials into a vine leaf and placed the package into a small pouch that he hung around the dog's neck.

He then stood up and pointed,

Not back towards the fool,

But outwards,

Sideways again,

Somewhere between the path.

Go on,

He said.

Take this to where it's needed.

The dog hesitated,

Glancing once towards the distant figure of the fool,

Still laughing at the cloud.

The magician softened.

You don't belong to anyone,

He said.

You never did.

The dog considered this,

And then,

Tail high,

He ran.