by Christopher KennedyI'm heavier than some animals, lighter than others. Also, I'm more threatening than most animals, less threatening than a few; faster than some, slower than most. I don't bite, though, unless provoked by desire. What I want to say is: I still measure distance in years. And swans mate for life. At least that's what I believe. I want a pair of somethings to refer to when I'm trying to make a point. The point is this: I'm an animal who knows where he stands among other animals. I can outrun a snail and threaten a housefly. I can conquer an anthill and mate for life. But the fact remains: My favorite dog has bitten the entire neighborhood. Here, boy, I say, but he ignores me, intent on running down another frightened child on a bicycle. He's mangy, too. His collar's too tight, and there's no quenching his thirst. Raw meat's the answer, but I'm too lazy to go to the store. This is the story of a boy and his dog. Though as far as I can tell, the dog ran off a long time ago.
