A yellow dog is chained to a porch. In another time, his name was Sunny and I love Sunny and miss Sunny. His collar hangs on my wall in my apartment. Sunny with his nose that has had most of the brown rubbed off by all the kisses. It is early autumn. Unlike my saddest memory about Sunny, it's a warm afternoon somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the middle of America. The chain really isn't a chain but a length of thick, steel wire that smells of blood looped around his neck rather than latched to his collar. Its lesson has been learned long ago.
The porch is unremarkable, recently constructed and growing like a cancer on the side of an old and graying Victorian mansion. For decades it has stood upon its hill. Blank, empty glass eyes staring at the horizons. Land spurtin' out far and wide, keep Manhattan just give me that countryside.
When I walked past the dog, he strained against his better judgement towards me. Head raised, eyes soulful and begging for mercy, ears folded back against his head. My brain starts working and a scene plays out. The cable wears away the fur. His trachea is crushed. The owners take him to a veterinarian out of societal duty rather than love. He lingers until November 4^th and dies rather than being euthanized much to the relif of his keepers. They aren't evil people, just inconsiderate people. Folks who quickly got over the novelty of a canine companion and moved onto newer fads and memes.

Sunny kept staring at me. I eased him from his chain, massaging his neck and searching for any injuries. A cloud of dust was followed by the sound of crunching tires as one of his owners returned from work or shopping. My heart raced as I heard the jingling keys. Now the dream was a game. Successfully navigate the rambling Victorian mansion with the dog while avoiding the gaze of the woman. The thought that this was a different time contiuum and actually real kept running through my head. Whenever I'd whisper reassuring things to Sunny it'd always be prefaced by "In my timeline this would never happen..."
With much ease and after much time we made a break for freedom never having caught the gaze of the minotaur.

Back home, my home in New Jersey, I discovered there was someone new living with my parents. The scenario was reminiscent of the minor character "Roy" in The Itchy and Scratchy and Poochie Show. He just happened to be there for no reason and nobody questioned the situation. Spinning in the foyer was a ceiling fan with two chains. The shorter chain was a source of amusement for Roy. Each time he'd pull on it, a high pitched whine would fill the house. I furiously knocked his hand and brought the ceiling fan crashing down.

The last thing I remember was going to Home Depot with my sister. We were going to get another ceiling fan. I led the way in a classic seventies station wagon with real plastic wood panels while she brought up the rear driving a hearse straight out of the fifties.

A dog chained to a porch. The dog resembles Sunny, down to the nose which had the brown rubbed away to pink by all the kisses. The house is a Victoria house on a rise in the middle of nowhere. Land spurtin' out far and wide, that is. When I walked past the dog, he was straining to say hello to me and I could see the metal cord wrapping tighter around his neck. Suddenly a scene played out in my head. The cord crushes the dog's trachea. The owners take the dog to the veterinarian more out of duty than love. He lingers until November 4th and dies much to the relief of the owners. Now the owners aren't evil but they are inconsiderate and have gotten over the novelty of a canine companion. The pooch stared at me and I eased him back and lifted the cord from his neck, rubbing it and feeling around for any damage. In the distance I could hear his owner's car pulling up and the jingling of keys. Now it became a puzzle, navigate the house without getting caught with Sunny and make a break for it. The entire time I kept telling myself that this is simply a parallel time continuum and I was taking Sunny someplace much better rather than languishing in this period. In fact when I would talk aloud to myself or Sunny, it would be prideful "Why, in my timeline things are..." You get the idea. Fortunately the house maze was successfully navigated, I never saw the minotaur's face and we were free. Back home, my home in New Jersey, I discovered there was someone new living there. He resembled the lead singer of Green Day. The appearance was reminiscent of the minor character Roy in The Itchy and Scratchy and Poochie Show. In the foyer was a ceiling fan. He laughed and pulled a smaller chain which caused a high pitched whine. Really annoying. I knocked his hand out of the way, grabbed the chain and started pulling but the alarm noise wasn't shutting down. With a crash, the ceiling fan ripped out of the ceiling and smashed against the floor. Last thing I remember was driving with my sister to Home Depot to get another ceiling fan. She drove a hearse from the fifties while I led the way in a station wagon straight out of the seventies with real plastic wood panels.