Winston Walked Like a Man

Day 1 I didn't think anything of it at first. I was in the kitchen, filling a glass

at the sink; it was late afternoon—that heavy, quiet part of the day where the house

feels like it's holding its breath. I had just let Winston out back. Same routine.

Same dog. While the water ran, I glanced out the window and saw he

was standing on the patio, facing the yard. Perfectly still. What caught my attention

was his mouth. It was open. Not panting—just slack. It looked wrong,

disjointed, like he was holding a toy I couldn't see, or like his jaw

had simply unhinged. Then he stepped forward. On his hind legs. It wasn't a hop.