Thursday
morning, I woke up just after six to find the power out. Blue and white lights
down the black street and Mom’s fire radio illuminated the problem as being a
tree down on some wires.
I
turned on my laptop for light, made use of the flashlights that usually gather
dust, and pulled Grace’s pink coat with reflective strips off my closet door. I
borrowed Dad’s bright yellow jacket with reflectors from the closet to take
Grace outside for her morning business.
But the
problem with the black dog in the dark didn’t surface until after I brought
Grace inside.
Now my
first dog, Max, had black, white, and some tan fur. The white confined itself
to his face, chest, and the very tip of his tail, and his back and sides were
black. His tail tended to be the only reason I didn’t step on him in the dark
middle of the night.
Grace
has black fur with brindle markings. I need a flashlight to see her in the
crate at night because otherwise she blends into the shadows. She’d be invisible
in a house without light, and she’d be able to get into all the trouble her
little puppy heart desired.
My mind
mulled over the problem for about seven seconds until I remembered a neat
little collar and leash Mom bought over the summer. They fell into the category
of novelty rather than being a leash and a collar I ever thought I’d use. But
the glowing collar meant I could keep an eye on Grace even without being able
to actually see her.
I trotted
down the hallway, Grace at my heels, and dug through the basket on the top
shelf of my closet. The flashlight illuminated my work as I dumped everything
out onto the bed. The limp black and orange collar lay on my comforter, and I
turned on the orange light before putting it around Grace’s neck.
“Free
dog,” I told her. “Go eat.”
The
orange light bounced down the hall and into the living room. It stopped in
front of the fire place, turned in a circle, and then dropped to the floor.
Grace
must have known I could see her now because she’d decided against trouble.
Smart
puppy.
