I was folding some laundry. Tons of it. Enough that I was drinking beer while folding. Folding laundry is awful, particularly when 98% of your wife’s clothes are inside-out because that’s just the way she does things.
Across from the foot of our bed is our poodle’s crate. She likes to take naps in there during the day and sleeps there at night. The crate gets in the way and smells weird, but it serves as a splendid pedestal for resting one’s basket full of laundry during the folding process. It’s also great for smashing toes into at 4am when you get up to urinate.
Anywho… I was folding some laundry. Luna walked into the room and looked at me. I returned her gaze and we both stopped in time.
She took a few steps towards her crate and halted, staring into it, as if to examine the emptiness. I watched her closely and wondered what she was doing. She became statuesque, and I gained an opportunity to use a snobbish “-esque” word in context.
Seconds later, a sock fell out of the laundry basket and landed in front of her on the rug. She looked at it curiously.
My sci-fi brain kicked in something special.
“Did you know that was going to happen?” I asked. She turned to me and tilted her head, the way the Observers would look at characters on Fringe when they were seeing the future or reading their minds.
I grew slightly frightened and excited.
“…September? Donald? Is… is that you?” I asked. “Did you stop because you knew that sock was going to fall, and you wanted to allow me to pick it up?”
She un-cocked her head. I picked up the sock. I examined it, finding it to be a normal sock. For a moment, I thought I saw it fade, as if not from this universe. But it could have been the beer.
I came to the conclusion my dog has powers. Her behavior was curious, and timed perfectly with a seemingly unpredictable event. There’s no other explanation than some sort of psychic, evolved brain function. I mean… coincidence is an explanation, but that one is less interesting and wouldn’t have forced you to read 500 words about essentially nothing.
As I threw the sock in the pile, Luna walked into the crate and started chewing on her leg.
I will check the back of her head for an implant later. Something tells me she will read this in the future and knows I’m going to do that, giving her a chance to hide it from me. Assuming she can also read. Who would know, really?