She had black hair and brown eyes. That’s what got him. The black hair and brown eyes. He had no intention of walking away with a dog. His intention was to draw the eyes of dogs in the pound. Pooches on death row was his idea. He was going to anthropomorphise them using tropes from all those prison documentaries. Handmade tattoos of tears (for the number of murders committed), dogs with shivs, gangs based on breed, dogs having their last meal, given last confessions, being strapped to a gurney for the lethal injection.
The plan had been to get in, take lots of photos, some sketches, and be out within the hour.
Instead, he walked out with a dog who reminded him of Tracey.
Joshua, at least, did the photos, but only sketched the dog that captured his heart. He wants to call it Tracey, but knows it’ll seem cruel. He isn’t sure who it is cruel to, the dog or Tracey.
He opens the large door to his studio. Tracey’s nose is sniffing everything. He tries to imagine the invisible threads she is following, but the tendrils remain as metaphors.
As he closes the door, he realises he doesn’t know if she is house trained.
And that he has no dog food.
Without an invitation, she climbs up onto his couch/bed and takes pride of place. Just like her namesake.