Dreams, Memories, and Reality

Chapter 1-2

“Barnabas, where the hell have you gotten to now,” Philip grumbled as he pushed his way through the underbrush, the dog’s chewed leash dangling from one hand. “I swear I’m going to get a chain for you. Let’s see you get through that.”

He heard movement ahead of him and whistled loudly. A rust and white foxhound came bouncing into view, and Philip could have sworn he was grinning as he came to a stop in front of him. “You are in so much trouble,” Philip told him as he took hold of the half of the leash still attached to the dog’s collar.

They started back toward the house when Barnabas suddenly balked, sniffing the air and whining.

“Smell a raccoon or a squirrel?” Philip asked him as he watched the dog’s head swivel as if trying to locate the source of an odor. Barnabas whined. Yanking the frayed leash from Philip’s grip, he raced in the direction of the house.

“Damn, dog, what’s got your tail in a twist,” Philip muttered in surprise, his eyes searching the darkening tree line for any sign of a predator that might be lurking there. Seeing nothing and hearing only the murmur of the breezes through the branches, he shrugged and started back to the house. Probably his imagination, or that damned cur of the Herberts.’ Someone ought to put that beast out of its misery for all our sakes.

Still, as he walked the final yards onto his property, Philip stayed aware, just in case. Wildcats had been known to come down from the higher slopes from time to time when pickings were slim, looking for stray pets. It wouldn’t do to run into one of them without his rifle.

As he reached the porch he heard a dog’s howl from somewhere down the valley, and then an answering one closer by. “Something’s stirring them up,” he said to himself as he pushed open the front door.

“Barnabas, where did you get to,” he called, knowing he’d have come inside through the dog-door. He locked it, and then glanced around, smiling when he heard claws on the polished wooden floor of the kitchen and saw the dog hie into view, sliding to a stop at his feet. Reaching down he scratched behind his ears. “Get over your fright?” he asked. “Guess so,” he laughed as Barnabas rolled over to have his stomach scratched as well.

A few minutes and one happy dog later Philip went into the kitchen to see what he could whip up for supper. Finding the makings for stew, he cut up the meat and set it to searing while he prepared vegetables. Soon the smell of dinner wafted from a large pot, making his stomach growl. Knowing it would still be a while until it was ready, he poured a glass of wine and returned to the living room.

“Barnabas,” Philip growled, shooing the dog off the end of the sofa. It was a nightly ritual that would end with Philip sprawled on his side on the sofa, Barnabas aping him on the woven rug in front of it as they watched the news.

Tonight was no different, including the search for where the remote had ended up this time. Philip finally found it sitting on top of a pile of papers on the desk. He vaguely remembered putting it there so he could change channels while working on his most recent book. He had the bad habit of jumping from one late night show to another to catch the latest political jokes or over-hyped movie stars making fools of themselves.

Turning on the TV, he switched channels to the one that carried the local news at this hour, sipping his wine as he watched the handsome anchorman recap the day’s events. Masochistic, he knew. He should be well over Kingston by now, but he still had a strange need to check on him a couple of times a week, even though his bastard ex had no clue that he was. Not that he’d care, other than to get sadistic satisfaction in knowing Philip was still somewhat in his thrall.

Angry at himself for being such a fool, Philip started to switch stations when he heard Kingston start a story about pets that had gone missing in the area over the last few days. “Two of the dogs were later found with their throats torn open. The initial report is that it was done by a hungry predator, most likely a wildcat.”

I knew it. I hit it right on the button. Philip finished his wine and switched channels to a game show. “Good thing you were on the alert,” he told Barnabas, patting his head before getting up to go check the stew.

Three hours later, still feeling as if he’d eaten way more than he should have, Philip was at work on the next chapter of his book. The hero, a cop, was having issues with his newest potential boyfriend, an informant who…And there Philip was stuck. Did he want the man to be an informant or petty criminal or the cop’s new, apparently very straight partner?

Stretching, he glanced at the clock, wondering if he should call it a night and let his subconscious mind deal with the problem. That often worked best for him, rather than trying to force the issue, so he saved his work on the computer and to his cloud program, closed down, and crossed to the bookcases that took up one full wall of the living room, looking for something to read.

Having found a book he didn’t remember he owned, he poured another glass of wine and settled on the sofa. He heard Barnabas chuff and chuckled. Pricilla had decided to put in an appearance. The cat belonged to someone down the valley but occasionally came to visit to torment Barnabas, generally sneaking in through an open window.

Now she stalked regally into the room, stopping just long enough to take a swat at Barnabas’ tail before making a dash out of the room, presumably back to the window, with Barnabas hot on her heels. She must have made it in time because the dog returned to flop down by the sofa in apparent disgust.

Smiling, Philip opened the book, thinking as he did that his now very solitary life wasn’t that bad after all. Who needed a love life and all the hassle it entailed? Not him. Been there, done that, still had the emotional scars to show for it.