Dog

If Batman were a dog, that's what she looks like. Black and tan, slick black coat, runs like whippet, high on the back end, low in front, if she were a stealth fighter, you would say shows no footprint. And sometimes, when she's been running - I run her beside the car, or on a bike, when she's been out there - the veins around her mouth enlarge. Her expression takes on a hideous smile. I tell her, you've got to watch it. If you keep on like this, we'll be out of here. And you might have to go back to where you came from. Whereever that is. She listens but then, what was that? One ear down, the other up, perpeptually. Something out in the wild. What is it? I ask her. She looks at me quickly, then back to whatever it is. Be careful, she's saying. This is not a hospitable place.