A man in a square cut black suit and broad-brimmed black hat, accompanied by a knee-high black dog, walks around bright white cement island in the middle of a gravel road, dividing a higher path from a lower one. All of this is contained in a Greek island summer landscape painted by a French Impressionist. The tranquil Adriatic sparkles heartbreaking blue just out of sight down the rocky dry grass slope that ends in chalk cliffs carved in fantastic abstract relief by gentle ceaseless breezes and tidal wash.
The man moves slowly almost past the divider on the higher path to the right, when the dog yelps and growls as if in sudden pain, and then lunges, snapping at him. The man immediately stops, raises his hands above his head, and cautiously retraces his steps to the beginning of the split in the road.
Suddenly, I am looking through the mans eyes, walking on the lower path around a divider, trying to avoid the dog which continues to follow me, every now and then making yelping lunges at me as if I am causing it great pain.
I realize that I am carrying something in my right hand. l look and see that I hold a small round knobby bone, like a knuckle, a small square photo of the head of a black dog, relaxed and happy, its tongue lolling out between white teeth. On top of the photo is an iridescent green feather about 2 inches long.
I pause, staring at the items in my hand, pondering how to proceed as the dog continues its random yelping attacks.