The Clay Canine Eyes of Fire

By Freddie Slade

As I wander around the house again, an unusual scent captures my nose: the scent of clay, of slowly drying clay, beckons to my nose and feet with power.

I find its origin inside a room with one window that ushers in the sun. A clay bust of a dog lies centralized. The ears sit low as mine, like fruit on trees, but the eyes fly high and set my mind ablaze.

The eyes jump open wide and capture all. All that sees their might draws close to them. Their vigor vaporizes souls and minds. Reaching out, the eyes pull me in strongly. I want to leave but still I push forward.

I reach a tall and dusty wooden box that stands directly across from the bust whose eyes still radiate and burn my soul. I let myself be engulfed by them now.

The daggers of the eyes reach through my soul to ask me “Who are you?” and “Who am I?” And as I stare ahead, my claws dig deep to suffocate the wood beneath my feet, as though a predator lurks close to me.

The eyes strangle both my brain and my body. I cannot move, nor think, for anything. I think just for the bust in front of me: the bust whose eyes terrify and shock me.

At last, a noise escapes from in my mouth: a bark, whose sound strikes through the chilling bust. My open mouth inhales the wooden dust. my nose encounters shriveled and dried clay, and my mind cools and falls back down to Earth.

And as they land softly back on the ground, my mind and soul and body now walk free. My nose wanders towards the smell of food, and my feet follow into the kitchen.

William Wegman’s Man Ray Contemplating the Bust of Man Ray