Breakfast With Wolves

Breakfast With Wolves By Scott Evers

Slowly I go.

Just waiting for the toast.

Mis-planned if that's a word.

Somebody asked me if I sleep.

I do.

Just not much.

Three hours.

Sometimes four if civilization's feeling generous.

Makes the days longer.

Funny thing is...

they still disappear.

Like a falcon at midnight.

Hell.

Did you know a peregrine falcon's got a third eyelid?

Little translucent thing.

Slides across the eye without closing it.

Keeps the dust out while it's dropping through the sky trying to rearrange somebody else's afternoon.

That bugger is moving.

Imagine seeing through dust at two hundred miles an hour.

I lose my glasses and I'm legally ornamental.

They say time speeds up when you get older.

Something about your world getting smaller.

What do you think, Rocky.

Bull fucking shit.

It's because I quit caring about ninety percent of the nonsense I used to drag around with me.

Sorry.

Hold on.

Fred's back.

—

— you know me.

— talking to myself.

—

— hang on.

Another dispatch from Scott Evers. Read for you by Geezer III.

Toast.

Finally.

...

Now the eggs are cold.

Microwave.

Marvelous.

—

Butter.

First.

Hold on.

— yes, Fred.

— I'm listening.

—

— I'd fallen.

— wasn't hurt.

— just in the process of standing back up.

—

— and there he was.

— right up on the ridge.

—

— moon behind him.

— black silhouette.

— looked like he'd been waiting for his cue.

— that's what I'm telling you.

—

— then the damn thing stood up.

—

— yes.

— on two legs.

—

— I know wolves can rear up.

— this wasn't that.

—

— took a couple steps.

—

— exactly.

— like a man headed somewhere.

—

— naturally I thought werewolf.

—

— what else was I supposed to think.

—

— well...

— that's where the story falls apart.

—

— just as I decided I was about to become folklore...

—

— three more stepped out.

—

— no.

— not standing up.

—

— just wolves.

—

— four altogether.

—

— big devils.

— dark as coal.

—

— walked across the prairie like they owned the paperwork.

—

— where were they headed?

— hell if I know.

— Mexico.

— Canada.

— Mars.

—

— wolves never seem obligated to explain themselves.

—

— no.

— listen.

—

— those are coyotes.

—

— wolves are long gone.

— least that's my preference.

—

— Rocky's here.

—

— no.

— she wouldn't chase them.

—

— she knows perfectly well she's an employee and not management.

...

Seriously.

People talk about dogs like they're pets.

Decoration.

Something to feed.

Walk around the block.

I don't know.

Doesn't seem right.

...

I got to wondering...

what would've happened...

if we'd never found each other.

Us and wolves.

Or maybe they found us.

However it worked.

...

Would we still be us?

...

Seems like something would've gone missing.

...

Couldn't tell you what.

...

Something.

...

We've been together so long now...

hard to tell where one story lets go and the other one starts.

...

I've been in empty houses that didn't feel empty.

Usually there was a dog somewhere.

...

Maybe loneliness...

doesn't know what to do...

with a dog lying nearby.

—

— alright, Fred.

— answer me this.

—

— last man on earth.

— just you and one companion.

—

— no.

— your wife's cheating.

—

— human or dog?

—

— sure.

— I'd miss my kids too.

—

— but I'm asking the question.

...

—

— me?

...

— I'd take a dog.

—

— not any dog.

—

— that one.

...

Shit.

Toast again.

...

Butter fixes most things.

Not all.

Most.

...

Rocky.

You're getting entirely too optimistic over there.

Nothing's fallen yet.

...

Anyway.

—

— yes.

— I wrote it.

—

— because you keep asking.

—

— no.

— it's only six lines.

— it's the middle.

— haven't figured out the beginning yet.

—

— don't know what it is.

—

— you say it's a poem.

—

— I'm still thinking on it.

—

— alright.

— don't interrupt me.

...

Dogs have never understood

the purpose of neckties.

I suspect

they know something

about breathing

we forgot.

Sometimes

I think

they're waiting.

Are they waiting?

For us.

To remember.

...

— what do you mean, that's it?

...

— I know.

...

— well.

— I liked it.

...

Finally.

Eggs.