The Wicked Flea

because their connotations were so static, so entirely immobile. An art exhibition. Paintings. Oils on canvas. But this exhibition was no still life! Hey, in case you’re as naive as I was, let me warn you: Flashing suggests speed: in a flash. Well, his right hand was moving fast enough, but he didn’t just expose himself briefly and take off.
    When the reality hit me, it crossed my mind that maybe I should feel scared. Pia had been horribly frightened by this same experience. But she’d been alone. I glanced at Ceci, whose initial amazement was turning to shocked bewilderment and what looked to me like fear. Suddenly, I was enraged. Reaching into my pocket, I grabbed my key ring, thrust it at Ceci, and said, “Car keys! Go back to the car! Can you do that?”
    She nodded.
    “Go!” I’m a dog trainer. I’m used to giving orders.
    Ceci nodded again.
    As she turned and began to lead Quest back down the trail, I whispered fiercely, “Rowdy, let’s go!” And off we went, into the woods, after the man, who must’ve taken advantage of my delay to zip or at least button his pants. Damn it! He’d turned and was fleeing nimbly, not hampered by clothes falling off. But he was in sight. Enraptured with the primitive joy of the chase, Rowdy plunged through the low underbrush, taking the lead, pulling me after him, inspiring me to holler to our quarry, “You picked the wrong woman this time, you son of a bitch! I am no one’s goddamned victim! And I’m going to get you!”
    Ahead of me, Rowdy leaped over a log. High on adrenaline and hellbent on vengeance, I mimicked Rowdy, cleared the log, landed lightly, and pounded on, dashing around and under low-hanging branches, and shrieking, “Go, Rowdy! Go! We’re going to catch this bastard! Run, Rowdy, run!”
    Run he did! His ears flattened against his head, his mighty legs eating up the ground, his tail flying boldly like a banner of war, Rowdy charged ahead, and through the leather leash that joined us and through the intangible bond of love that united us, his wild strength and his savage speed flowed into me until I was stronger and faster than myself, half woman, half malamute, invincible!
    Rowdy and I gained ground. Our prey was about twenty feet ahead of us. “I’m going to get you!” I snarled. “I’m stronger and faster than you, you sick son of a bitch! Watch out, because you’re going to trip and fall, and I’m going to catch you and kick the shit out of you and tear you into thin little strips of skin and flesh, do you hear me? Watch out!”
    Ah, the power of suggestion! The ski-masked head bobbed briefly as the man checked to see exactly what would trip him. Something did. His own feet? Suddenly, he faltered. And fell. Hard! His body gave a loud whomp. Until then, I’d been all wrath and speed, ferociously determined to catch the villain. What on earth had I intended to do with him once I did? Deliver a lecture on keeping his pants zipped? During the chase, I’d been in aggressive pursuit. Rowdy had been having fun. I’d growled, threatened, and snarled. Rowdy’d been playing a happy game. Even now, when the object of the chase lay ahead of us, when our enemy had been felled, Rowdy showed no intention of transforming himself into the sort of dog who could be commanded —Guard him !—to pounce on the evildoer and wrap massive, toothy jaws around the scoundrel’s throat while I, ignobly if safely, scurried off to call the police. If the situation had been reversed, if the man had chased me, if he’d threatened me in any way at all, commands to Rowdy would have been equally useless and entirely unnecessary. All on his own, Rowdy’d have stopped him. The dog was eighty-eight pounds of muscle and bone. He loved me. And he didn’t need my advice.
    It occurred to me that I should take his. Contemplating the man, Rowdy saw no threat. Because there was none? Enjoying the last of the adrenaline, I felt more puzzled than brave. Above all, I felt determined to see the damned man’s face. Even if he got up and bolted, I’d know the face, and I’d pick it out in a mug book or a police lineup.
    I trust Rowdy. Even so, swooping quickly down, I grabbed a rock far bigger than I’d have chosen to fend off an aggressive dog. The man stirred. Before he had a chance to recover from the fall, I was standing over him. The ski mask had twisted to become a blindfold. With one hand signal, I dropped Rowdy. With a second signal, I ordered him to stay. Holding