Husky on the Detroit Dam
I had a dream about Sonny,
my long gone husky.
We were fishing together
on the Detroit Dam.
We had never fished in real life.
Detroit, Oregon.
Dumb.
Molalla, Oregon.
Smart.
Portland, Oregon.
Dumb.
Klamath Falls.
Smart.
I cast my line into the fake lake,
for phony rainbow trout.
I smoked a cigarette
I never smoked.
Sonny was giddy at the wall,
primed, spring-loaded.
She shook that husky look:
mischief.
A blue-eyed mischief in one eye.
“Matt,” she said.
“Blow up the dam!
Let the Santiam run wild!
Like I once did!
Put me in your new novel,
the watershed novel,
let me ride shotgun,
I’ll be the sidekick,
a funny sleuth,
howling clues,
bolting the detective
into adventure
and revelation,
like we used to.
I pulled the car over
and wrote this all down.
The novel was right there,
in my husky’s one blue eye.