Dreams are part of our subconscious, we know that by now. Jung established his own immortality by trying to explain dreams to the utterly bored bourgeois demoiselles at the turn of the century Europe. To that I’ll arrogantly say that myself,  I don’t need no stinkin’ psychologist untangling the strings of my hidden psyche .  I‘ve had a vivid imagination ever since I remember, so vivid that the lines between reality and my own  dreams or thoughts  were always blurry scaring the living lights out of my parents at  times . I remember fondly my imaginary friends that lived in the palm of my hand as well as the look of panic on my mother’s face as I maintained full length made-up conversations with my little people. Ultimately   I turned out OK, though the jury is still out on that.

    I wrote this little story based on a legend I remember  hearing when very young.

The Mutt

ate last night, as I started my walk, the cold was as sharp as a blade—a blade keen enough to cut a stone heart, even one carved from the coldest marble.

He looked as if he was sleepwalking—shivering and bundled up like a mummy. His hat was pulled over his forehead, covering his ears nearly to his nose. A scarf wrapped around his neck covered the rest of his face. The ragged coat’s collar bore tufts of fur like sad memories of long-departed grandeur.

He walked with his arm at an angle held away from his body. He gripped a leash of a hidden dog, a clever dog avoiding bitter wind in his muzzle by walking behind his master.

Smart dog.

Inside, I smiled.

The brutal whip of frozen air propelled me up, down, left and right in a deranged dance I could not control. I must have looked like a mental patient but my appearance was irrelevant. I stared at the enigmatic vagabond—my fascination crossed the freezing boundaries of common sense.

He wobbled across the sidewalk as if looking for something lost. It’s not nice to mock the unfortunate, but his walk was amusing. His limp was pronounced. He walked as if his steps would leave deep footprints in the asphalt.

He stopped and looked in my direction. His cough sounded like a steam engine an imaginary locomotive engineer desperately tried to ignite.

Smoker.

With consumption lingering in his lungs?

With unreasonable longing, I was curious to see the hidden dog. Cold air and blown snow teased tears from my eyes.

What a night. How stupid not to be home and how idiotic to obsess over a drifter.

I warmed my hands by blowing warm air and rubbing them against each other while waiting for the dog to show himself. I could not think past the dog. He must have been cold, no matter how furry he was.

We passed through a dark patch between streetlights. I squinted. The man’s staggering silhouette approached—slower and slower.

Was he was afraid of me?

I was spooked. My hand clenched keys in my pocket—ready to use them for weapons if necessary.

I waited for the dog to prance before my eyes as if part of a military parade. My heart was heavy with pity for the sorry beast—I reserved only a fraction of my sympathy for his freakish master.

Why drag a dog in this cold—in the middle of the night?

He’d be better off anywhere else. Like the old and decrepit, dogs should sleep in front of a fire at night.

They were close. Behind the hobo, I saw the leash streaming from his hand and hidden behind him. I imagined stifled, suffering sounds.

Poor animal.

Only a few steps away—I was devoured by curiosity, but I did not want to betray any interest in the odd couple. With eye contact would come the cadge…money for cigarettes or a bowl of soup. He dropped something.

I held my breath. I did not know whether he noticed me; he seemed oblivious to time and space. Tracking his meander across the sidewalk, I studied the leash. He behaved as if pulling something but the leash terminated in thin air. He jerked the strap as if pulling a reluctant cur. He whispered.

“Here, puppy-puppy.”

The late hour played tricks—my mind relaxed its hold on reality. While passing, he shook the leash as if urging the invisible dog to move along faster. The lonely leash dragged on the sidewalk.

A few steps farther, the object he dropped gleamed—it was a pale hint on the sidewalk. I looked to make sure they were gone before leaning over to look.

A bone, glowing in the dim light like a harvest moon shining through clouds. A fleshless and dead thing—pocked by the unmistakable teeth marks of an invisible dog.