under_a_sky_empty_of_threat fyn gula he had just finished watering the horses when a sudden noise punctuated the evening, softened by the recent loss of color. was it a dog's cry? frantic shrieks of pain echoed in the stillness. coming from the distant country road. a pick-up truck sat parked at the edge, it's brake lights announcing an unexpected warning. it must have hit some unfortunate pooch as it crossed from one snow-encrusted meadow to the other. he listened to the misery, a broken record, stuck at the moment of the tragedy, skipping at the point of its misfortune. life screaming at the cruel suggestion of death, unable to resist the hour of its passing. he felt the noise enter the depths of his soul where it was somehow a familiar sound, heard not yet a year ago when his own father groaned his last song of the living. he felt the sting in his eyes, crying for a dog at the same time remembering the loss of his beloved dad. he waited. the haunting resonance ended. the pick-up truck spun around on the lonely road, pushing through the four way intersection in front of the farmhouse he shares with five others. it did not stop, for stopping meant normalcy, and nothing was normal after you have watched something die. and so, he walked to the fence to see if his own dogs were ok. they were known to escape from time to time. there was chip the australian shepherd, safe. and there was maddie the corgi, safe. but where was sandy? sandy, the dog who rides with him in his own pick-up truck. he called her name, desperation in his voice. she did not come. he stood in the snow, waiting. hoping. he called again. no response. 030131 what's it to you? who go blather from