Coyote

My dog Simile and I…

The fallen leaves bring lots of color to the grayish, cold and dull ground.  Pieces of trash are covered up now which makes it seem like the no littering campaigns are working.  But us natives know better.
At the moment, I’m walking in a park with my dog, Coyote.  He’s a mix of some sort, a mutt, but whatever the breed is, it resembles that of a wild dog.
Coyote constantly buries his nose in various trash piles that we pass every so often.  I’m not completely sure, but I think something may be wrong with him.
I let Coyote off of the leash, so he can stretch his legs and follow somewhat in the distance.  It’s a dog park, so I’m not completely worried that he can manage to escape the confines of the park, but he is very clever and is known around our neighborhood as an escape artist, something I’m not necessarily ashamed of, nor is he.
An hour rolls by before I notice another dog inside of the park.  It is a brown and white colored boxer that is trotting goofily around with his tongue dangling on the left side of his jowls.  It’s owner appears to be in his fifties, but seems like he is in good health, not coughing or obese and his physical features aren’t sagging like most elderly Americans do.  The elderly man and the boxer look nothing alike.
It isn’t until I call Coyote over to the rusty water fountains that I begin seeing more and more dogs and their owners, most of the dogs running as if they hadn’t tasted such freedom in a while and the owners seem to be chasing down once tightly gripped leashes.
It is simply amazing how each dog is managing to sidestep the piles of shit they leave behind.  Yet I believe most, if not all people, are eventually discovering the moist and smelly unwelcomed surprises on the bottom of their shoes.  Only dog shit is able to find every groove in the sole of a shoe, which makes me wonder about the pliability of a dog’s fecal discharge.
But luckily for me, Coyote is obedient, at least whenever I’m around.
Currently, he’s being a perfect little angel, sitting on his hind legs and occasionally staring up at me, but there is a bit of wiggle to his waggle, as he keeps readjusting his seated position in hopes of me noticing his anxiousness.  So I undo the leash, but chase my own freedom.

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