Tulsa runs to the front door and begins barking, fiercely. It’s the kind of end of the world bark that a dog does when she’s giving up her life for you. There are mean snarls, growls, and the occasional crying yelp. I want to wait for the whoever has come in, wait around the corner, grab them and hold a knife to their neck. I want to let that person know that I’m in control of this cabin now, but for some reason I have strong feeling for the dog. I can’t imagine her getting hurt. It makes my stomach feel like I’ve just eaten rotten eggs and ghost peppers. The idea of her getting hurt is, for some reason, unimaginable and terrible.
I run to Tulsa’s rescue, while hiding the knife song behind my back, to see Joey Mac standing at the door, just Joey Mac.
“Joey, what the hell man? I thought you were gone.”
“I couldn’t stand the thought of leaving you here all alone Tulsa. I didn’t know what you were facing, and I didn’t think you should face it all alone.”
The dog continues to bark and growl.
“Tulsa!” I say firmly then make some kissing noises. The dog walks over to my side but continues a low growling noise. I pull the knife from behind my back and say: “well, you certainly surprised me. The dog, ah – this dog. Her name is Tulsa.” I walk over to the knife block in the kitchen and slide the knife back in.
“Well Jesus fucking Christ man. I sure am glad you didn’t stick that inside me,” Joey says.
“Me too man.”
“So, yeah, I drove home then came right back again. I’m sorry I was a coward, but I realized that there was a long gravel driveway south of where you dropped me off. I figured that this was where you would be, since that’s the direction you were walking in. So, what the hell I’m supposed to call you now? You can’t have a dog’s name.”
Tulsa continues to snarl and growl at Joey, but I pet her occasionally, which calms her down.
“I met a fellow who helped me out earlier. His name was Sam. I like that name. You can call me Sam.”