It was two dogs and that’s what they did. One lived there with its man. The other was just visiting, or so the man said when I didn’t ask.
Dogsitting, he said. He looked sheepish. Coincidentally, the dog was a sheepdog.
Weeks went by. The dogs barked. They had a harmony, or they made one. And one howled from time to time.
My wife liked it that they barked. She said it made her feel safe. She lived with me, anyway.
I liked it when my wife felt safe. I lived there, too. At night, I slept with earplugs.
In the day I slept face-down at my desk, and I drooled. We all felt safe.
Tetman Callis has published two books, High Street and Franny & Toby, and various short fictions and poems in such magazines as NOON, New York Tyrant, Atticus Review, and Queen Mob’s Tea House. He has a degree in philosophy and works as a litigation paralegal. He lives in Chicago with his wife and their two cats.