Just A Minute

A car slowed down as it came up the rise, halogen headlights searing the roadway, and stopped. The driver said, “Saw you walkin’. Thought you might wanna know. Couple loose dogs back there.”

We stopped. I said, “Yeah?”

“One looked sorta like a pit. Out in the road.”

“That’s not good. This dog ain’t even a year old, she wouldn’t fight too well.”

“Really? That’s a big puppy. Anyway, I dunno. Maybe I should back up and get another look.”

He went into reverse and drove backwards a bit. His backup lights put an underglow to the trees that hung over the street. Large front yards remained dark. We walked forward, eyes wide open for trouble.

I saw movement, a pair of ears. Behind a tangle of ivy under a tree, beyond the ditch, in someone’s shaggy front lawn. I put my flashlight to it. A pair of bright green reflections ducked out of sight. Then another pair, orange, like sharp little LEDs. I kept my light on them. They were scraggly little things, with pointed ears like coyotes, only smaller. They watched us, prancing nervously.

Nervous mutts. I lunged at them and growled and they hightailed. The car came back.

“They’re scaredy cats,” I said.

“Okay, well,” he said. “Never know.”

“Nope. Thanks! Thanks for the warning.”

“Have a good night.” He drove off.

Night silence came back down as we walked through the dark under the trees. I thought about the other night when I drove home and almost hit a coyote.