sam

The two dogs studied him, carefully, warily. Strays, he was sure. Only two houses still stood on the street, at separate ends, different sides, too, and he was in the middle, amidst all that had been abandoned. One of the dogs moved a bit closer, then stopped. The other growled, low. It had been an odd idea, getting into his car at midnight and driving three hours to the old street, to see what was, to see what it had become. It might’ve been an idea fueled by drink, except that he’d given up drinking four years earlier. The late fall wind pushed against his back and the forward dog retreated to its partner. He backed toward his car, slowly opened the door, got in. Three more dogs poked their heads into the dark. Then another two. He sat in the emptiness for ten minutes, maybe more when one of the dogs, one of the last to appear, moved close to the car and he opened his window. The dog whined, then licked his hand. He opened the back door and the dog climbed in. It was how their partnership began. When he arrived back home, he named the dog Sam, for no particular reason. It just sounded right.