Dog Logic

by Tom Strelich

“When’d he die?” “Right after Dad. Yappy, just kind of... well you know how dogs are, very emotional, they take these things personally. He used to sit outside Dad’s bedroom. I mean, the room is still full of the man, only he’s not there, to be seen, anymore. Dog has one of the most precisely logical minds to be found in nature. Death doesn't make any sense to a dog, he has no appreciation of it. Like we do. He doesn't know it’s coming for him too. If he did, he'd just say, ‘what is this shit, who’s in charge here, what’s the point?”

Hertell would marvel at how the routine can become the pivotal with the slam of a car door.

He’d come to religion under unusual circumstances. In his previous life, he’d lived in a uniformly religious community, some were more religious than others, but still on the whole it was a continuum of effortless and confident faith, only he never got it. He could see and sense the impact and effect it had on others, but he never, ever felt it himself. He envied it, even though he didn’t recognize it as envy at the time.

But he couldn’t be heard above the din of justice.

“We have taken that into careful consideration and deliberation, and we believe that the rescue and safety of the children outweighs the risk of accidentally killing or otherwise harming the children.”