Burning Man

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Even before I pressed down hard on the gas, Sirius was aware that something was up. The dog knew me better than I knew myself. The dividing window between us was open, and he pushed me with his muzzle. Sometimes he begs treats off me that way, but he wasn’t looking for a handout this time.

“Whaduya want?” I asked in a Brooklyn accent three thousand miles removed from my own.

He rested his muzzle on my shoulder and I felt his hot breath on my neck. “Doggy breath,” I told him, but he wasn’t shamed at all.

“All right,” I said. “It could be a big call, a really big call. This might be your chance to make Rin Tin Tin look like a pussy.”

I moved my head to get a look at him, and he took that as an invitation to give me a lick.

“Cops don’t kiss other cops,” I told him, wiping away his slobber.

His eyes were sparkling. That’s what Jenny noticed when I first brought him home. “Look at his sparkling eyes,” she said. “They look like little stars.”

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