Some Bright Spark tells Crazy James the dog will make his fortune. Says the mutt can smell buried treasure like a pig snuffling out truffles. Of course, James doesn't know the first thing about ... [+]
easing on his fleece-lined boots.
We laughed and clinked our empty glasses.
"To more beer," we cheered, "to wine,"
as he hauled himself into his puffed winter coat;
my Michelin man on a mission,
hat strapped tight beneath his chin,
harpoon at the ready.
He kissed me goodbye on the doorstep,
ice already clinging
to the tips of his powdered moustache.
Shivering, I watched him go,
waving him into the whiteness,
watching as the blank landscape
swallowed him, slowly.
Later, I found the second crate of wine,
forgotten by the kitchen door
and the waiting bottles of beer
cooling in an unseen bucket.
Later, I remembered it was June,
and this was California–
no footsteps in the white, white sand
to mark his icy passing.