lost faith, sorrowful knowledge, and a plump little pup

it started with a howl. 

not from the creature, mind you, 

but from the tiny black-and-white dog 

whose usual mode was 

yip-yip-yip not 

awooooooooooo. 

a bolting, shuffling, 

staring moment later, 

there was nothing to be 

seen, just furry paws 

patting the ground in 

an anxious dance 

and a wet chin

pressing into my 

hands. 

i didn’t make the connection

this time, but to be fair,

the pup was often a bit 

soggy.

the second time, 

i happened to be 

closer, 

scrambled in time 

to see that 

damp nose pressed

right into the water 

bowl, sniffing… 

something.

a bug, surely. 

swallowed or fled, 

as when the pup 

was finally calmed 

enough to make room,

there was no sign.

the third, the fourth,

the fifth time, 

just the same.

something chased 

around that small metal 

surface, 

but unseen to human

eyes.

it became an interesting 

mystery.

listen, some of us 

lead very dull lives, 

okay? 

and then, after the 

tenth or so disruption 

at the water bowl, 

it was no longer 

an interesting mystery 

but an annoyance, 

a disruption in the day-to-day

that might be dull

but was at least comfortable.

then the shadows started

to catch my eye 

every time i walked by

and i was hooked again.

curious.

how could there be something 

IN THE WATER BOWL

when multiple times a day

i found the bowl entirely empty, 

every shiny surface entirely 

clear to my 

- admittedly aging -

eyes? 

how could there be something

IN THE WATER BOWL

when the older two dogs 

never once seemed startled 

by it, only the young pup 

who greets everyone with 

eagerness and makes 

an excellent alarm?

but there it was,

every time i looked out of the 

corner of my eye, 

every time i stepped 

from one room to another

without QUITE looking down,

that shadow on the water,

there and gone.

then the little pup started getting

fat, and that was another mystery.

no extra treats, no table scraps, 

and he’d never been the 

squirrel-chaser of the pack,

so how?

if only it had stayed a mystery.

not because any harm was 

done to us, to me, to the pup, 

to the world at large, 

not because the world 

was irrevocably changed or 

broken. 

except maybe it was.

maybe there is a special kind

of breaking 

that can only happen 

to a person when they go 

seeking 

their dog’s favorite toy

and instead find

a pile of tiny 

BITS 

of the fantasy they’d 

always wanted to believe in, 

scales and wing bones, 

a bit of tangled fur 

from an attempt 

at self defense,

and yes, 

in the varying sizes

that might imply

a whole family 

of 

mutilated myth.

i can’t say 

i did anything 

particularly 

exciting 

with this 

revelation.

except to go out 

and buy a new 

dog dish,

set the other one

in the safest part 

of the closet i could

think of, 

and hope someone 

survived, 

unseen to my eyes.

what else 

was there 

to do?