The Wild Inside

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I have always had a knack for knowing the minds of dogs. Dad says it’s on account of the way I come into the world, born in the open doorway of our kennel, with twenty-two pairs of canine eyes watching and the barks and howls of our dogs the first thing I ever heard.

Back then, there wasn’t no clinic in the village, so the community health aide come out to our place once a month. When Mom was partway through carrying me, the aide told her to stay in bed and not tire herself out. Mom minded that advice right up till the night I was born. First of March, so cold the ends of her hair froze. She went outside and crossed the dog yard, got as far as the kennel’s doorway when a pain come over her. She crouched down, holding her belly, and hollered for my dad. I slid right out. I was in this world before she knew it, with barely any help from her. She said it was the only thing easy about me.

Why was you in the kennel? I asked her one time.

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