Lost

He heard it was lost. Saw it was lost, rather. If one was to get all technical about it. The poster. Of the list dog. The one that said do not approach. The one that said skittish may run away. The one that said “Hedi” at the top. The one that had great picture. Big poking up ears, a little too big for her head, black and brown fur, standing tall, looking straight into the camera, smiling, if that’s even possible for dogs to do. What I am I suppose to do if I see it. Ignore it. Shoo it away. Play dead. Stop drop and roll. There are limited good options he thought. Feed it maybe. Thinking about what he had in his pockets bybway of food should he indeed encounter her. A package of extra gum, spearmint, two squares left, one unwrapped Hershey’s kiss, that had been in his pocket since Christmas, and how would that work anyway. Let’s say he did see her. She’s gonna what, stand in the same spot while he fumbles with the wrapper, finally getting most of it exposed, beckoning her over, for a piece of chocolate, the one food item they say never ever, under any circumstances feed to a dog. And bubble gum? Jesus. It would have to be something else. There must be a better plan. He thought about just running at her maybe he could get a grip on her tail or one of her overgrown ears before have managed to turn to flee in the other direction. But how would get her home. Wrestle her to the ground. Have is own call 311 or 911, that’s a trick he hadn’t learned just quite yet. Scream as loud as he can, for what, for who, he had no idea. Maybe just hollar fire and see what happens.