Before I proceed on to the supermarket I stop at a gas station to grab some jerky. Counterintuitive perhaps, but who knows what I will find at the supermarket. I step into the open business and grab a package of jerky from a display, stepping around the mess a warm ice cream dispenser has made on the tiled floor. I notice dog snacks strewn about the floor but some are left unopened and I grab them for Cleaver.
When I come back out I see a small pack of dogs, wrestling over an indiscriminate object across the street. Cleaver barks at them viciously and begins to pursue them but I shout at him and he stops, just standing, hairs on end. I shake my head I notice that this pale beige truck still has fishing tackle in the back, nestled next to my backpack. I pull a red-orange can of spray paint out of my pack and decorate the tail end of the truck:
Civilization or BUST
My continual reminder to not get too comfortable here. Eventually this bumper sticker of sorts will find its meaning, I promise myself, but not today. Tossing the can into the back I step into the driver’s seat and begin to pull away when I realize two immense black dogs are standing in my way, blocking the road. I lay on the horn and one of them wanders off almost immediately, but the other starts barking furiously and pointedly at Cleaver. Cleaver’s response takes on the volume of a banshee’s wail, deafening me and shaking my chest with each snarl. I watch the hairs on my arms rise as he then sits still, growling ferociously. After several strained moments the final dog releases a few more sharp barks and wanders off, appeased for the moment.