Week 8: Vignette

She jumps up on the couch and lays down in her usual spot. The cushion at the end of the couch is where she always lays, and it is easy to spot because it is the only cushion bent down and twisted, when compared to the rest. She lays her head on the window sill and stares into the outdoors. I glance outside and see the wind knocking off the brown colored leaves and blowing them into the driveway. The orange leaves still wave freely from the trees and their brilliant colors seem to mock at the leaves on the ground, not knowing that they will meet the same brown fate. I turn back to my dog. Her brown eyes flicker over the activity outdoors, and briefly a whine escapes her lips. I know she wants to go outside, but this time of day is too dangerous with all the vehicles driving up the road, to and from work.

Suddenly, as if to drive my point home, a car speeds up the driveway. She is suddenly up and her paws mash into the couch cushion, deforming it a bit more. Her hair on her spine spikes and her jaw goes tight as she alerts me to the intruder who dares to pass our home. I gently pet her and utter soothing words in hopes of calming the rage. She quietly succumbs and sinks back into the cushion. As she does, I cringe and lament my sad looking couch.