Erich Allen Peterson

I was traveling north on a somewhat hilly and rural north-bound highway in Arkansas. It was the edge of an autumn morning, when there is still a hint of coolness in the air and the dew barely clings to the slightly overgrown grass. Deep in anxious thought of what the day might bring, I came around a bend in the road.

It was the first dog that caught my eye first, the one lying in the grass on the opposite side of the road. Still. Lifeless. The dog seemed to be a medium-sized and dark colored breed, no doubt the victim of a fast moving vehicle. Seeing such things are rare but yet are just frequent enough that on seeing them, one tends to feel a sense of sadness, but soon the moment has past and not another thought is given to it. It was the second image that I saw that mid-morning day, that has been permanently fixed into my mind. It was a second dog. This one approximately the same size as his departed friend. It had a red colored coat, which was dull and worn, just what you expect to see on a road-weary wondering dog. It sat on its side next to his friend. Its eyes were alert and its neck was erect, with a look of sheer confusion written on its face.

This is the image that has been permanently fixed into my mind. An innocent minded friend, wondering why his playful companion wont wake up.