Henry’s Favorite Word is Dog

I guess I might think Henry’s favorite word would be something like parsimonious or flugelhorn, or, if he had any serious artistic pretensions, maybe a word like lithe or luminous. But the word is Dog.

To Henry, this word has the weight and substantiality of its rhyme-mate log, and sinks into his consciousness as if his consciousness were a receptive bog. Henry looks intently at his dog, Hilda, (who gets nervous being stared at) and pronounces the word Dog, his voice full and filled with significance.

They are on the beach, and Hilda looks wild from running and sand-excavation. The wind creates chaos in her wet, bedraggled fur.

I encountered them as I was walking the other way, returning from the jetty with the wind at my back and the rain coming steadily. I stopped for a moment to talk.

Henry had to show me Hilda, who stood there in her dishevelment and patiently accepted (as much as could be expected) this sacrifice to the Human-Dog relationship.

“Look,” said Henry, “the slenderness of these legs of Dog, the incredible tendons with such power to leap and run! Somewhere in the sinews of Dog is the discovery that will free us from our dependency on foreign oil!"

"Look at this nose, this masterful instrument, the very nerve center of enlightened Dog! Look at these teeth (pulling back Hilda’s lips), their white efficiency—for sometimes we have to show our teeth in this world, and when we do, they should gleam! Look at all this loose skin around her neck (grabbing a handful), so she might slip the grasp of an attacker!”

I could see the usefulness of that. For me, a substantial bank account would be my surplus neck skin. Then if people persisted in wanting me to work a 40-hour week until I’m old and gray, I would pull loose from their grasp and escape.

Henry summed it up, holding out an open-palmed hand toward Hilda. “Dog,” said Henry.

By this time, Hilda was trotting up the beach, sniffing every kelp and shell. She even put her nose into one of my big shoe prints and recorded its existence—and perhaps a whiff of my existence too.

We parted ways, and I walked on. The rain front was supposed to keep coming in for several more days. I could kind of sense the weight of it, stretching for miles out across the Pacific.