In which modern technology is utiilized to form Rorschach-esque ink blots. Updates Wednesdays.
This week’s inkblot is a pelvic bone.
Growing up in a lake house my family had a dog-named Flash. He showed up one day under our car all malnourished and shaky, until we fed him some grits and he stuck around after that. He’d run off for days at a time, though, and sometimes when he came back he’d have buckshot in his skin. Once he came back wearing a multicolored striped child’s shirt. I guess some kids had stuffed him into it; he was a pretty friendly dog so I bet he played along willingly.
We lived next to miles of undeveloped forests, so every once in a while he’d come back with some mysterious bone in his mouth. Remains of animals were common around our rural neighborhood, turning a corner in the woods and finding a snake or a bat or a deer or a set of their bones happened all the time. It’s funny what kids get used to quickly, especially in the death and shadows of the country.
Flash, the wandering dog of my childhood of bones, once ate the car cover for my stepfather’s BMW, or tried to. My stepfather wanted to kill him because he was wild and could not be tamed. I cried on the dog’s behalf until my stepfather relented.
Years later when Flash died of old age, my stepfather made an engraved plaque for his grave.