The Dog

     One night in early fall 2005, I was sitting on my porch, my feet on the rail, simply enjoying the quiet. I was no more than 25 feet from the road, but traffic at night is almost nonexistent in Balsam. I heard a dog making its way down the road; I could hear nails on the pavement, the clink and clatter of its collar and its rhythmic breathing as it trotted closer. In the darkness, I couldn't see anything, but the sound was absolutely unmistakeable. There was a dog, and it was walking down the road. I quickly stood up and crossed the yard to the road. Both of my nearest neighbors had dogs and I wanted to be sure that this wasn't one of theirs that had managed to escape. I could still hear the sounds, the click of nails and the jangle of tags, and it had gotten much closer, but I still couldn't see anything, not even movement. As the sound got closer, I froze. There was the sound, unquestionably a dog, but there was no dog attached to it. The sound passed by me, through me even, and faded on down the road behind me. I quickly slipped into my house, locked the doors and turned on a movie to provide some noise and company. I never experienced anything like that again, but I also didn't spend much time on my porch after dark, either.