“Dog” by Jane Turula

She comes in, loudly, with jingling keys on her hip and a big retriever on her leash. She comes in, and comes in, and comes in once again. She never stops coming in. She’s looking for something. She wants me to think she’s looking for something. She comes in, and in, looking for something, wanting me to think she’s looking for something. She’s loud. I like dogs, I hate jingling. She comes in, she wants me to look at the dog. Everyone looks at the dog. Everyone likes dogs. Everyone wants to look at the dog. A dog on campus—who doesn’t love it?
That dog is going away. And coming back, and going away again. She wants me to look at the dog. “LOOK AT IT,” the jingling keys tell me. I like dogs, but I don’t like this one.
Personally? Me? Like dogs? Why not. I like and I like again. But I don’t like her and I don’t like the dog. I won’t look at the dog. Shame on you, look at the puppy! A puppy in public? A golden retriever? Who doesn’t love a good boy. Such a good good, good-good-good boy.
He’s not sitting down when she tells him to. He’s not listening, she wants something. She’s looking for something. She comes in and in. She’s looking for me to look at the dog. Don’t look at my dog! He’s a good boy! My dog is a good boy, he needs to do his job. Service dogs can’t be touched. Don’t look!
But that’s not why she got him.
She came in with him, out with him, in with him, out with him. Good, good, good, good.
Goodgoodgoodgoodgood.
“Oops!”
He’s a little rough sometimes. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s a good good boy. You love good good boys, don’t you? Everyone loves him. He’s a good boy. Who doesn’t love a golden retriever? Sure, he’s a little rough sometimes. Don’t touch him! Sorry! He’s a little rough sometimes! Why did you get so mad? He’s not mean. I don’t know him, but he’s not mean. Sure he’s a little rough, but he’s a good, good boy. I said I was sorry!
I have not looked at the dog. I will never look at the dog. The dog bites me, he is still a good good, goody good good boy. Everyone loves the dog. I don’t love the dog. I love dogs but I don’t love the dog. The dog bites, I do not look. The girl apologizes, she does not understand. I don’t look. I don’t speak. To speak would be just the same. The girl is looking but she is not. She does not see me. She came in but she never saw me. She only saw the look I did not give.
Everyone loves the good boy, who is never a bad boy. He is training—one day, he will
be a great boy. But everyone makes mistakes. Why are you mad? He only made a mistake!
I will never look at the good good boy, and the girl who does not see me. He bites, he is good. I do not look, I am nothing. Just another stranger who must hate dogs.

Jane Turula is a second-year majoring in Entertainment and Media Studies and minoring in English from Athens, GA. This pupa has never tried to publish before but writes compulsively. One could say it is genetic—she is of the third generation of UGA academics who have a hard time wriggling themselves away from literature. She has a lot of ideas and would like to see them put to good use. Perhaps, one day, you will even see her try to film them. Alternatively, she could place her musings in the UGA admissions packets she puts together as a student worker at Terrell Hall, but this would most likely get her fired.