The nor’easter that had been making him restless has finally abated, the wind gusting only now and then and the rain pushed well offshore. He doesn’t think these things, but senses them, feeling the breeze lift his fur, breathing in a less salt-tangy air. After a night of heavy rain and blasting wind, the dawn is sparkling with welcome sunlight, dappling the grass beneath their feet. Crows in the boughs above carry out a call and response, three caws made, three caws answered. He barks at them, sitting so boldly in the apple tree. They ignore him and he accepts their disrespect.
A truck pulls into the yard. Shadow eyes it, sniffs. Wood, with a hint of machine oil. Another truck wheels in. The day is beginning. Shadow trots into the attached barn and lets himself in through the dogtrot. It’s his newest trick, letting himself in and out now that someone—he doesn’t know who—has made a swinging flap in the lower half of the door.
His person is also aware of the arrivals. She’s dressed and sipping from a mug. “Got to do a supply run,” she says. He doesn’t understand the words, but he absolutely understands the meaning. He swings his tail. A car ride!
She talks to him the whole ride and he comprehends only that she’s in a mood of some anxiety. Of some turmoil. As she often does when her mood thickens, she grasps the skin of his neck and holds on. He keeps his big head thrust between the two front seats so that she can touch him when she needs to. They made the usual rounds, three places he must wait in the car and two places where he is welcomed. Finally, they stop at the big building where she’ll let him out to sleep under a grand tree. She pulls out a canvas bag filled with those objects she stares at for hours at a time. They all smell like other people’s touches.