The Black Dog

Hiding prone and just out of sight, it lurks, never far and always waiting to be summoned unwanted by a silent whistle - blown by some event, a careless word, or even nothing - that only comes into being much later.

I shall paint shortly in the garage, alone, save for the dog. Loud symphonic extreme death metal music will drown out some of its incessant silent barking at least, but not all. And between songs I know that it is still lurking. Clear in my mind, it makes no sound although I am aware of the infernal noise of its silence. It stares at me with dark and unblinking eyes that drag down at my eyelids. I cannot sleep, and I look tired and old.

Just a chemical imbalance in the brain? Perhaps.

We are a pair, the dog and I. The dog takes me for long and painful walks into creativity, and without it, I fear the loss of something greater than the pain it costs me.

I try to visualise the dog. It is a large breed - possibly a Labrador Retriever, and mostly it just sits. It doesn’t bark, or snarl. It is not aggressive. It just sits. Watching. And its presence has a sound to it, although I can’t directly hear it.