A first friend. A dog all black. A dog we named for a coal town in W. Virginia. A black pup now named Logan, all Beauty and Love.
My first friend was (soon after pup-hood) tied to a ‘dog house’ on the dark north side of our house. A small patch of weak grass. A pup’s length of chain. You see: dog’s aren’t allowed indoors- but I never knew this, ‘till I found out.
A pretty pup, left then all all alone. A pretty pup, a lot of love, soon then: into chaos all of it all went.
Mud and a shortened/twisted/knotted chain, some snarls and growls, hunger and thirst, the whole goddam place was dread abandon waste, so much regret, fear, anger and rage. No kinda good place.
Must have been a year later my Dad untangled that dog, he let loose that clasped chain, he carried the black dog and delivered him into my arms, where I was told to wait in the back of the van. The van with 2 front seats, a bed in the back. A foam mattress pad- Seating for an entire family. Today it was just me and my dog and my dad.. Off we drove to pickup a friend. ‘Jimmy’ a friend from my dad’s motorcycle club.
We all four then went down the road that led to the highway. The road that led to the ‘on ramps’, or: towards freedom. The road was bordered by a factory on the East, low lying forest / wet lands the West. We drove south, parked on the right, the West, with the setting sun all orange glow lighting the side door windows of the van.
My Dad went around the front, then opened those doors, reached in and grabbed Logan. As Jimmy jumped out with one extra long seeming arm, that was all chromed out at the end. He spun a cylinder flicked his wrist to the right. Click. I Hit The Deck and buried my head into nothing but dread. No support there, a failed foam mattress some filthy fuzzy cover. Plug ears, close eyes, let mind go to red. Then Hell heard a blast from Jim’s chromed steel, 2 men returned, one dog did not. And one boy died there that day.