Bark!

It was dark and wet on my way back from the mailbox. My mind was equally bogged down by muddy, vacant thoughts. My ragged shoes sucked to the mud and gravel concoction that was my driveway while I thumbed through previous tenant's junk mail. Inspiration, I was certain, had abandoned me. I hadn't thought of anything remotely clever in months. Everything seemed grey and smudgy, different iterations of the same thing, as if originality had spread itself too thin. Still sucking along the driveway I noticed my neighbor's bedroom light flicked on, and I could see his fat silhouette through the glowing venetians. I paused to watch his bedtime ritual. First he unclipped his watch and placed it delicately on his bedside table, must be expensive. Then he took the remote and blinked on the TV. Next, he sat on the edge of his bed and lifted each foot separately to slough off his socks. Then he stood up and exited the scene briefly, and when he came back he was wearing a large shirt and underwear. He pulled the covers back, and climbed into bed. Right on cue a four legged figure followed suit, making a palate out of a small corner of the bed. The light flicked off and all was dark except the blue glare of the television. It was then I had a funny thought.


There was a man who was raised in a basement by wild dogs. They were rough dogs with the raw experience of oppression and starvation, whose barks crashed like toppling poker tables, whose whimpers sounded like sad sirens, and whose chains clanked against a cold, hard floor. The man spoke in grunts, growls, sighs and pants. He ate what the dogs ate - dusty scraps and soggy bread, rodents, whatever was around. He walked on all fours, and because of it his knuckles were rough and swollen . He was naked, and he routinely licked his entire body clean. He used the same corner the other dogs used to relieve himself. His hair was dry and brittle, his skin was scarred and bruised. He did not appear to be aware at all that he was, in fact, a human. It was a rather convincing performance.



One night, the abusers left the surface hatch open. The dogs and the dogman looked at each other in a peculiarly humanoid way, as if to ask one another, "Do we dare?" The dogman gazed back at the opening. Star pricks and dark branches were all that were visible from the basement. Without another thought the dogman took one step closer to the exit. He ascended the staircase one step at a time, and as he conquered each step he became slowly more upright, until finally he was standing erect, with his upper half in the world, and his lower half in the basement. His companions worshipped from below. He gave them a look of transcendent solace before he took one final step onto the lawn. It was the first time he had seen grass. He bent down to smell it. To him it was as if the crust of the planet were a lush bouquet. He pressed his face into the grass for several seconds, sniffing and tasting. If he had known the word, he would have thought, "Bliss," to himself. Then he heard a shuffle from the side of the house. He jumped and turned in the direction of the noise. There was a man. It was the abuser. He had rage in his eyes. The dogman stood tall, displaying his proud stature, but also shamed to be of the same shape and size as his abuser. He quickly dropped this notion, and bolted for the abuser. Unprepared for an attack, the abuser shielded himself instinctively, but there was no aiding him. The dogman ravaged the abuser. He bit, tore, punched, slashed and kicked him within an inch of his life. The fight was loud and brief, but not brief enough. He caused so much raucous that his comrades crept out of the basement to see what was the matter. As soon as they realized what was going on, they joined in on the fun. The dogs slunk over to him, grinning a sinister grin, and ate into him without mercy. The dogman stepped back, and watched his comrades dismantle the body. He wiped his mouth clean of blood, bent down to smell the grass again, and then laid on his back to gaze at the stars for the first time in his life. Then he heard another noise.
The dogman jumped and turned even quicker than before. He could see another man walking toward the house next door. His shoes were making a sticky sucking sound. He fumbled through some papers, then reached into his pocket and jingled out his keys. He selected the key to the house and reached for the lock, but hesitated at the sound of a bark the size of a St. Bernard's woof. In a moment, the man imagined his neighbor, who he'd never seen before, barebacked and on the back porch with a beer and a beer belly woofing away the night like a mad man. A crazy dogman.

"What a funny thought," he thinks.