Its cry almost human, the pitbull appeared to be
hanging by the mouth from a high branch, leash
dangling down towards its owner in a way that made
passersby freeze, as if the man had strung him up.
The little crowd took out its phones, conferred on
who to call but reached no clear conclusions,
when a second man appeared, walked directly to
the tree, just as the branch snapped and came down,
dog and all. Its owner calmly unleashed the pitbull,
who ran off shaking his enormous prize, teeth still deep
in the wood. That’s my friend’s dog, the second man
assured the shaken assembly. He has a thing for trees,
takes hold, won’t let go until he brings the limb down.
He’s a really good dog, he shrugged, with an issue.
I wonder how it feels—he asked nobody
in particular, to want anything that much?
