Snub-Nose

I lifted the discolored fork to my chapped lips. A few corn kernels leapt from the tines, attempting to avoid ingestion. Of course, they with their limited sense perception could not have known that a brindle Boxer had stationed himself directly below the faux wooden folding stool. The kernels lingered on the laminate checkered floor for just a bit longer than it takes for light to pass from a rising sun to the eyes of an old woman with a young lover. I released the fork and let it clatter upon the cheap, chipped ceramic plate. The rattle succumbed to the overwhelming silence; it hadn’t the strength to echo off the off-white walls. My blue eyes met the brown orbs of the dog. I witnessed his snub-nosed ignorance and woeful inability to express regret. Before the tears began to well, I gripped the platter with its residual fat stewing in a shallow pool of meat juice and whipped it across the infinitesimal space. The dog leapt and let fly but one frightened bark before it raced to taste the succulent gravy strewn about the floor. I leaned back in the chair, burping under my breath and half-heartedly thanking a God I doubt exists.