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To my left, water gushes from a pathside ditch. A broken pipe.
The boiling sky has settled into a solid blanket of gray, and the rain’s quieted
to a steady drizzle. Still, I smell more bad weather menacing in the distance.
Tossed into a bush is a large informational display with a photo of two gray
wolves. I don’t see any fence or barrier or intact wall. And it dawns on me
that grumpy wolves and tiny dogs might not make the best of pals, especially
under these trying circumstances.
Just as I start to leave, a wolf on the sign seems to move. To blink.
Oh.
He isn’t part of the sign. He’s next to the sign.
It’s Kimu.
“Hey,” I say.
No answer.
Something tells me I should hightail it outa there. Something else is saying,
Make no sudden moves.
I hate it when my brain disagrees with itself.
I split the difference, crouching meekly. Doing the whole submissive dog
thing.
Kimu locks his gaze on me. I try not to make direct eye contact. Lotta
animals find that threatening. But his eyes are mesmerizing. Glowing amber
and way too smart.
He moves again.
Two paws appear.
Big paws. Nothing like my feeble, shrimpy feet.