It was a damp kind of morning. The kind that hangs on the trees and shingles, a lingering fragrance of sap and wood. Ryan was awakened by the dog’s excited breath in his ear. She pawed at his arm, voicing a yawn, almost a whine. Scratching his head, he pulled himself from bed, his knees creaking as he stood awkwardly in the early light. Swinging the door open, he let the dog out, her tail whipping him in the thigh, tongue lolling about in excitement. She leapt at his side like they were going on some great hunt instead of a bathroom break. He stood, watching her squat like a black monkey in the grass.
On the lawn, he could tell that she smelled something. Mingled with the familiar yard smells was something new. Something pungent and sick. He watched as she sniffed the air. She clearly saw something. Then he saw it too—the faint flicker of a rat-like tail through the Hydrangea bush. It was followed quickly by a low, throaty growl. Monster took off towards it at once; her bark sounded both excited and scared.
“Monster, what is it? Monsty?” Normally this would’ve stopped her from pursuing whatever “it” was. But right now the voice couldn’t compete with this new, snarling noise. It sounded angry, angry and afraid. Then suddenly he could see it—the pink nose and squinty eyes, followed by a shock of mangy grey fur and rat-like tail. The eyes fixed themselves on his dog; the mouth pulled back to expose a row of angry snarling teeth. Obviously seeing a possum wasn’t anything new, but this one acted different. Slouched forward, its head bobbing absurdly left and right, it was surely sick. It moved too slowly, like it was underwater. Tail slicing the air; it stood its ground, grinning wickedly at Monsty. His stomach dropped at the sight. A rabid animal was not something he’d ever wanted to encounter, especially not less than ten feet away from his black baby. Especially not in his underwear at 5:30 in the morning. But seeing the animal left no doubt in his mind. And Monsty was locked on to the animal, like lichen on rock. The twitch in her ears was the only sign she’d heard him call before she leapt in its direction. Adrenaline hit him like a punch in the gut as he watched her land just inches from the danger of a bite, the deadly bite of rabies. The possum pulled back its head but otherwise held its ground. For a moment it looked like a stand off. Neither animal moved but simply stood and beheld each other, like miniature warriors facing off in battle. Then the smaller of the two turned and began weaving towards the wood pile on the far right side of the house. When Monster’d get too close it’d turn its head back and hiss and snarl. The dance continued in this way for several yards till the thing slid under the wood. A point-counterpoint of bark and hiss broke through the early morning silence, intrusive, unwelcome.
Then he remembered the gun. Locked away in his safe inside, he hadn’t actually handled it in about a year. But what other options did he have? In one swift movement he turned away from the strange cacophony, towards the house. He stopped at the door to call Monster. This time she came without any hesitation. Inside, both breathed heavily. The sound felt out of place in the quiet of the hallway. He found the things he needed—gun, clip and rounds, the turned towards the door. All I need now is a holster and a pair of cowboy boots, he thought as his dog flew past to find the enemy for him.
As though directed by some inner compass, she went directly to the wood pile, leading him to the possum hidden there. Laying her body down, she faced the enemy like a soldier waiting for the right moment to strike. Her eyes were two black coals, glistening with a primitive anger. A guttural growl came from deep within her. No longer the wired ball of nervous energy, she had become still, precise, potent. Her gaze trained intently on the pile, she seemed like she’d just graduated from police training. In that moment he knew her as more than his best friend and companion. She was a fellow soldier, ready to help him towards the finish line in this task.
He couldn’t see the possum—it was hidden just below the top logs, out of the dog’s reach. Reaching into his pocket, he felt for the rounds. He rolled them through his fingers. They felt cool to the touch; he knew if he held them to his nose they’d smell of something metallic and glossy, like amber. Moving on adrenaline now, he grabbed the spading fork and brought it down, hard, into the wood. Its pulpy mass broke away easily under the strength in his arms. Underneath, crouched in a corner, lay the possum. It had curled into an almost fetal position; its impish smile looking even more demonic framed by the chunks of timber. He planted the fork into the end where Monster lay guard, and reached for the gun.
Despite not having held it for a year, he knew this gun like an intimate; it’d been with him through three years of shooting competitions and even brought him a win in one of them: the “Best Beginner” prize. He cradled the clip in his left hand, feeling the gun in his right. Popping it into place he
As man and dog faced each other with the enemy in between them, he let off the first round. The sound caught him by surprise. It was enormous, slicing through the morning. He looked to where the possum lay. Its tongue stuck from the side of its mouth as though in disbelief. Without hesitation he aimed and shot again. This time he watched as fur and flesh split apart where the bullet hit, the body yanked back as though pulled by invisible string. The jerking stopped. He let his breath out in a heavy sigh that seemed to come from some cavernous place within. It emerged sounding like he’d been holding onto it the whole time.
Inside, the shots had awoken his girlfriend from a dream. She was just pulling herself out of bed when he came rushing through the door. First looking up, she almost laughed at the sight of him before catching the look in his eyes. His hair was a mop of morning wildness; his eyes framed by a pair of thick safety glasses. His mouth was opened in a comic-looking “oh” shape, but his eyes held a focused look she’d never seen before. Like he’d just come from battle. Then she noticed the gun, and felt something close to fear rise in her throat. Kneeling down besides the bed, she watched as he grabbed Monster fiercely, pulling her towards his chest in a tight embrace. He breathed deeply against her fur.
“It’s OK, Monster. It’s OK. You did soo good, my baby. So good. Yes, I know, I know.” He knew as he spoke them that the words were more for his ears than hers. On the wall, the clock’s hand ticked to six a.m.
Outside, the lawn was still awash in frozen silence. The morning itself had been forced into servitude by the power of the shots. Slowly, the light teased the ground out of fear, lifting the mist up in its warmth, readjusting the day towards something like a normal state. The battered wood pile stood as testament to the day’s event, its timbers drying in the good heat of the sun. From somewhere high above a blue jay cried out. Clear and resonant, it echoed through the trees, the first brave note of the day’s returning song.

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