What the Dogs See in the River

Simon Lee

Jack’s brother, David, is not unkind. Jack is trying to be more like his brother. This is why they walk their dogs together every Tuesday at noon. David still lives at home with their parents. No one seems to mind, as he is so charming everyone agrees it would be a crime for him to live alone. Jack clings tightly to the fact he lives in his very own apartment. He shares it only with his dog Dreyfus. Sometimes women come and go. Mostly they go. Truthfully, Jack knows it means little that he has his own apartment, but at least it is something.

The dogs walk along the dirt path ahead of the two brothers. David’s dog does not have a name because, David says, it has not told him one yet. Most people laugh about this, but Jack quite wishes the dog had a name. Dreyfus and David’s dog begin to trot more dutifully. Jack and David are forced to jog to keep up.

Jack’s lungs are filled with the thin winter air. At one point he considered himself to be athletic, but that point was long ago.

“So, as I was saying,” David continues, “the tiger in this painting is wearing a sort of tutu around its neck. I know that there is some special name for it but I cannot remember what it might be. Do you know?”

Jack does not know, but he can picture it. It is the thing that clowns often have around their necks. He conveys his lack of knowledge to David.

David says, “That’s alright. That’s alright that you don’t know. Maybe it makes it more special, us not knowing what it’s called.”

The dogs have found their way off the trail. They run through the papery covering of snow towards the dark water of the river that flows through the woods. It is that weird time of limbo in the year where it is cold enough for there to be snow but the water has yet to freeze. The river defies the inevitable changing of forms, running from what it knows it will become. Jack and David accept that they cannot keep up with the dogs and begin to walk.

David’s marching stride leaves the snow undisturbed except for a series of perfect footprints. Jack likes to drag his feet along the icy ground and pretend that he is skiing.

David says something about the regality of the trees that surround them. Jack pretends not to hear but looks up, when he is sure his brother cannot hear him, and finds that David is right. Jack salutes the trees and smiles to himself as his feet slide along, pushing the snow aside, like bows of ships.

Dreyfus and David’s dog are at the edge of the water. They stare intently into it, past their own reflections, fixated on something beneath its surface. Jack looks over at his brother who unzips and rezips his jacket in the perfect mirror of the water. Jack looks down, trying to view himself in that same mirror, but cannot seem to find anything at all. He wonders what the dogs see in the river.