The following snippet came to me while walking through the park next to our apartment in Phoenix, Ariz.
Whiskers sniffed the air, trying to decide where his adventures should take him today. There was a new smell tonight, coming from the park down the street. He looked back at the hole under the fence he had just dug, admiring his handiwork and then padded out of the front yard of his owner’s home and went toward the park.
He had escaped three times this week, but always returned. Not even a year old and he was an accomplished escape artist.
* * *
Jonathan Wolver could feel his blood lust boiling. He looked out the window and scowled at the moon, full and bloated in the sky. Normally, he could contain himself on nights like these, but it had been a stressful week. Maybe a moonlit stroll would do him good.
He put on his blazer, hanging on the coat tree by the door, and stepped outside. The smells of civilization assaulted him: the sickly sweet smell of children; the cloying, basic smell of lovemaking couples; the old charred smell of someone’s late evening barbecue. He couldn’t stand it.
He felt the hair on the backs of his hands thicken. Maybe the park would be far enough away from food smells to calm his blood.
* * *
Whiskers stopped and sniffed around the trash can. The female Basset hound had been here. So had a male Golden Lab and a male Jack Russel Terrier.
The strange scent was definitely closer now. He marked the trash can and followed his nose.
* * *
Jonathon smelled the puppy first. It looked up at him, wagging his tail. Jon took a step closer and the dog’s tail stopped wagging.
NOTE: In my mind, I think horrible things happen to that puppy and Jon is left feeling guilty. But I haven’t written anything further.
