The Blood Spilt

YELLOW LEGS

He’s as black as Satan. Comes racing through a sea of brownish pink fireweed that’s gone to seed. The white, woolly seed heads whirl like snow in the autumn sunshine. He stops dead. A hundred meters away from her.

His chest is broad. So is his head. Long, coarse black bristles around his neck. He isn’t handsome. But he’s big. Just like her.

He remains stock-still as she approaches him. She’s been listening to him ever since yesterday. She’s enticed him, called him. Sung for him. Told him in the darkness that she’s all alone. And he’s come. At last he’s come.

Happiness is prickling in her paws. She trots straight up to him. Her admiration is totally unconditional. She draws her ears together and places herself in the courtship position. Arches her neck. Her long back like a sinuous S. His tail makes long, slow, sweeping movements.

Nose to nose. Nose to genitals. Nose under the tail. And then nose to nose once again. Chest puffed out, neck extended. The whole thing is unbearably ceremonious. Yellow Legs places all she has before him. If you want me, you can have me, she says clearly.

And then he gives her the sign. He places one of his front paws on her shoulder. Then he springs forward skittishly.

And she can’t hold back any longer. The sense of playfulness she’d forgotten she possessed returns with full force. She leaps away from him. Hurtles away, the soil spraying up behind her. Accelerates, does a U-turn, races back and soars over him with a long leap. Turns around. Lowers her head, wrinkles her nose and shows her teeth. And off again.

He races after her and they tumble over and over together when he catches her.

They’re full of it. Playing like mad things. Afterward they lie in a heap, panting.

She stretches her neck lazily and licks his jaws.

The sun is sinking among the pine trees. Their legs are tired and contented.

Everything is now.