by WILLIAM WIDMAIER
Thor cracked open an eye and tracked me as I crossed the room to the front door. As soon as I lifted my coat off the hook, he drummed a deep, steady drumbeat against the heavy wood beamed floor. He scrambled to his feet and shook the sleep out of his fur and bones.
We headed west, past the lawns and the old barn where the horses still slept, and continued on the trail that led into the forest. The day was a brooding grey. The storm of last night was over, but not the wet.
Thor led, scanning the woods and sniffing the air until something caught his interest, then bolting for it, a hundred and twenty pounds of loping wet fur and muscle.
We worked our way further along a narrow trail to where the trees ended and the rocky cliffs began and the sea was choppy and mean. Reaching the bottom, we crossed the loose sand to the water’s edge.
It wasn’t until we’d rounded the rocky point that I noticed the fresh wreckage.
And Thor began to bark.
ABOUT THE WRITER: William Widmaier lives in Topanga. When not leading global marketing or product design teams, or playing pétanque, or cooking, or drinking French wine, or wandering in Provence, you can find him writing.
Photo © 2007 Dan Piffer