9780008390662

kimu
There’s a gray wolf at the park who makes me a little jittery.
Jittery, as in I sometimes worry he might like to eat me.
His name is Kimu, and we struck up a conversation when a mutual
acquaintance of ours, a mockingbird called Mitch, introduced us one day.
Like Nutwit, Mitch likes to taunt me because I’m domesticated. Gives me a
lot of grief about how free he is, soaring stringless over the whole town.
“I’m not the only one who’s pampered,” I said one day. “I mean, look at
Kimu. He’s not exactly running wild.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. And when I
looked at Kimu’s I could kill you with one quick bite expression, I really
regretted them.
“In any case,” I said, moving the subject along, “I’ve lived wild. It ain’t a
picnic for a dog.”
“What was it like?” Kimu asked. He moved closer to the edge of his domain.
He had a strange odor, intense and scary and a little bit intoxicating.
“Well, I was just a pup,” I said. “Abandoned by the side of the highway.”
Kimu was listening intently. “Must have been tough.”
“All I could think of was food, water.” I didn’t like the catch in my voice.
“Owl got me.”