The Black Sage Journal

  Image courtesy of Syriac Press The signal turns red just before we arrive at the intersection. There is no cross-traffic to trigger the light. It’s just shy of 6 a.m. and the gray streets are empty except for the occasional work truck festooned with implements of the landscaper’s trade. But municipal functionaries are failing if traffic is flowing, so I curse under my breath as we wait for phantom cars to pass. When the danger subsides and the light triggers green, we wheel into the parking lot and roll nose-first up to our spot against the chain-link fence protecting the fields of play.  We’ve done this a thousand times before. It’s the morning ritual. Every day, I awake at first light to the sounds of Joji grunting, snorting, sneezing, and shaking. When it becomes evident that these noises will increase in both frequency and volume if I pretend to ignore them, I give up and get up, pour coffee, grab the harness and leash, and start for the duck park. Although this Groundho...