beyond the dark road home

 In the back seat there is a deep discussion going on. 

It started innocently enough when Sophie looked out the window and said, "That is where my ex lives." 

It took me a second to process her 12 year old words spoken in full adult tone. I was wrestling with the sudden vision of Sophie in the backseat of my car wearing a smart skirt, high-heels, knees together, playing with a strand of peals hanging from her neck. Her dark hair in tight sensible bun, saying my ex, the bastard took all the china too...
  
I had barely gotten my head around what she had actually meant, notes & lockers, awkward smiles full of braces & blushing, when Beach asked, "Why is that your exit, you don't live there?" 

The next few miles were spent with Sophie trying to explain she had said "ex" not "exit" and Beach trying to understand how her friend having an ex made anymore sense than having an exit.

"Who has an exit?" Sophie demanded. 

"I have an exit," Beach answered, "Exit 17."

So they agreed Sophie could have an ex and Beach an exit then they got down to the business of dreams. 

It is more of a ritual than a habit. The two of them in the backseat telling each other what they had dreamt. Like confession, it has been 3 nights since they last shared....  

Their chatter matches the rain falling against the windshield. It is late and I am tired and the whole valley is sick, so the fact that I am too doesn't seem to count for much. The girls are hungry. Sleepiness hangs in their eyes but they talk loud and fast over each other. Their words are running full sprint into the cold.

The lines on the road blur in the mist of headlights. The conversation in the backseat is about ghost dogs visiting in the night.

As we make our way home we drive under the shadow of the mountains already tucked in to a thin spring sheet of snow. 

The ghost dogs are barking to be let out for the night.  

I listen to Sophie talk about Annie Dog showing up in her dreams: the smells and the feelings. I listen to Beach talk about how the details of the morning Kilo slipped the fence filters into her dreams: the colors and the darkness.  

I have always told my kids the only thing I know for sure about what happens after something dies is it will smell bad. But as I listen to them weave through the veil of 'here' and 'not here' I start to wonder about the way dreams can touch you long into the day. 

I will never again be so innocent as to be a believer and yet driving these 2 little souls around is pretty damn close to seeing into the mind of heaven. 

Even if it is only a dream and all the ghost dogs are quietly sleeping.

Dear Friends at Best Friends Animal Society,

It is heart breaking to write you to say that Kilo was hit & killed by a passing car yesterday morning at the bottom of our street.  He had slipped out one of the open gates as we loaded for a river trip.  The thing is Kilo never wandered; he hardly left my side.  All he ever wanted was to be next to me, on top of me, or under me.  

All I can figure is Kilo didn't know where I was because the morning routine was altered.  He must have left looking for me, following the path he & I run together.  

We will never know why yesterday happened.  The car who hit him did not stop it was early and dark so I must assume they didn't see him- being negative won't help us now.

Kilo will not be returning to Angel's Landing he wants to be with me.  I burred him in the corner of my garden so he no longer has to wait at the garden gate for me to finish watering.

Thanks for all you did to unite us.

His life was his own & he graciously shared it with me.

Misty Brown 8/25/2011