Mintwater Otherwise, she'll stomp and pace, approach only sideways. If I chomp with her in the room, mashing away the stink of garlic and dill, Luna will paw at my knee. She'll lodge her muzzle against my thigh, yawn and prod and prance. She needs a whisperer, a gentle hypnotist.
"Did your Daddy chew gum when he left you?" Dog Freud will ask. "Freshen his breath for the Bichon down the street? "Or had your first owner just brushed his teeth when he chased you around the house with a hockey stick? He terrified you with growls over loud barking and chewed-up books. "And there was that time you were out back, drunk on a bottle of mouthwash, when that Doberman forced you down with muddy paws. Your whimpers, your whines, as you retched in the grass. Later, minty panting filled your nose as you quivered, splayed out on the vet table, struggling as she drew the pregnancy test. "When you were lost for days, on your own in the city, you survived on mint candies and cold French fries. As you sucked on the small circles, searching down alleys, dodging trucks, hiding from pit bulls and bored children, did a fear of eternal nothingness seize your doggy mind?"
Or maybe I've got this wrong. Maybe that's not trembling, but thrill. Elation appearing as fear. Not lodging, but nudging to share.
"Was there an old gob of gum stuck in your mother's fur? You cuddled up to her with your sister puppies, fat and warm on milk, that sweet smell saturating your neurons. Now when the trigger’s exhaled, your synapses soak your brain with softness and home and love. "Or maybe when you chased that duck from shore to shore, the lake had taken on the smell of nearby spearmint stalks. After the mallard flew off, you continued swimming: euphoric in the floating, overjoyed by the movement of muscles. When you returned to shore, you shook and sprayed a mist of mintwater, raining it down on everyone. "And there was the morning you went home dazed and joyful with sex, smelling of ice cream. You and that mutt had found a carton of mint chocolate chip behind the gas station. You'd sniffed and swallowed and rolled in it together. Globs of sugary drool coated your muzzle as he bowed and chased you around. As he showed you good love next to the dumpster, did the hope of eternal harmony flood your doggy mind?"
My dog's made ecstatic by gum. She licks the mint air as I chew.
Cortney McLellan lives in Anchorage, Alaska, where she writes all kinds of stories. Her work has recently appeared or is forthcoming in Cream City Review, Dogzplot, and Tuesday Shorts.
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