The Flog – The Fabry Log

Dappled and drowsy I drove my kids to school and kept the radio off driving home so I could think. Quiet and peace and a restful heart are things you must fight to gain. They don’t come easily.

Thinking. Ideas about competing stories are crowding other things. Important things. Big decisions about life loom. Fear and anxiety spin like a top in my heart and the quiet and relative peace amplify the angst.

I came to an intersection and a truck whizzed past. I pulled behind it and followed. A Chevy. Long bed. Newer truck with a tinted rear window. A dog in the back.

This is not uncommon in Arizona. Lots of people haul dogs in the back of their trucks. They roam free in the back, watching, waiting.

The sun warmed the cactus and cholla now. It revealed dirt on my windshield I didn’t know was there. But I could see the road and the dog. He had short hair, a long tail, and looked ready for the hunt. It looked like a dog that could point at a rabbit or duck in some marshy field.

The dog paced from one side of the truck bed to the other. It craned its head around the driver’s side, then did the same on the passenger side. Then it stopped in the middle and looked through the tinted window at the two figures in front.

Back and forth, back and forth, tail wagging, wind blowing his ears. Around curves he braced himself and tried not to skid. Vigilant, exuberant about life, prepared for what was ahead, ready.

I stared at the Chevy emblem on the back and the license plate. The dog was being carried along by a power and force he didn’t understand. He had no concept of the engine, the plugs and points, fuel, combustion, or lubrication.

Perhaps the dog felt that by moving from one side to the other he was controlling things, creating momentum. Perhaps he felt all his nervous energy aided the journey. I’m not sure what went on in the dog’s head. Perhaps he was simply passing the time and waiting until he could jump.

I can scarcely know what goes on in my own head when I see such a thing.