The dogs of Brigus

I drive out to Brigus and clip a
few branches from Rockwell Kent's
pear tree. To make them bloom
in water back in Toronto. A man
with an old dog. The dog looks
to lunge at me but doesnt have
the power.
Yes he's thirteen, the man says,
and he's blocked with the
arthritis.
The man looks down to admire
his sour-faced dog.
He's a '92, he says.
Later, at a yard sale, another
dog howls from a chain on a doghouse.
You could put him in the house, I say.
Owner: Oh he won't even look at the house.