Catherine O'Sullivan

Heat

Heat Rowena is mad because the dog knows something she doesn’t. That’s how Rowena is, powering through idiocy borne of the intense denial of reality she musters every day just to get out of bed. “Come on, Lucy!” She pulls on the leash, attached to a chain, attached to the dog who has lowered her head like a bull ready to charge and adamantly does not come on. “You said you wanted to go for a walk!” And she did, the liar. The first of the three to run up when she heard the leashes jangle as they were pulled from the drawer. Lucy, a heart shaped locket hanging from her collar, (Ben loves her so much) was the most excited, the second being Flower, a congenitally scrawny terrier mix, and Barley, a perennially shedding 80 pound “rez dog,” meaning lab and shepherd and who knows what, who showed up third, head cocked a little, favoring his runny nose and while he was pretty sure he wanted to go, was worried that Rowena, again, would forget how much his left nostril hurts. It’s been running for 2 months now, one of those days with blood. His sinuses can’t handle either the dry air or the intense heat of the Sonoran desert.