Hustle & Flow--Doggy Style

Shadowy hounds flow over the landscape, dodging the bones of earth arrayed sharply against them. Vicious in intent, downed pines reach jagged fingers toward them. Scant fur and lean muscle, they leap, twist and rush. Joy made flesh. Speed incubated from bumpy, stumbling birth until their eyes navigate celestially to stars both bright and dim. Pack is life. Joy, joy, joy.

Rabbit freezes, a choice based on success, then lingers a moment too long by one snout, by one long-legged stride. Squirrel dashes up a tree to find a leaping maw awaiting it. Rounding on the ground dweller, the astringent slap of sagebrush smells of bliss. The heated rush of blood exhilarates, offering energy for the next chase. No cry, no foul.

Descendants of brother Wolf and sister Coyote, whose ranges bump against theirs, they, too, howl at the moon. Long muzzles balance an overfull orb reflecting upon insubstantial noses. Liquid eyes of cave-deep topaz, they gaze with ardor at the one who offers a temperate cave, fragrant and yielding. Lolling tongues and clever canine smiles show teeth that shred and crush. They circle, collapse with a sigh, then roll onto tapered backs, offering dewclaws and well-padded hare's toes to the heavens.