MATTHEW J. SPIRENG | "WINTER MORNING WALK"

Outside the vet’s office a greyhound

bundled up like an old lady in a heavy

coat, wool bunched on its neck up to

its ears, is being taken for a walk as I

drive by 20 minutes past sunrise, temperature

just below freezing. It’s only a glimpse,

but the image sets me thinking of

Little Red Riding Hood and the wolf,

how this innocent greyhound could be

a version of the wolf in grandmother’s

clothing. Only, given that it’s a greyhound,

not a wolf, this fairytale would have to be

different, no use of the big teeth to eat

the grandmother or Little Red Riding Hood,

as some versions have it. Let’s say

early one winter morning Little Red

Riding Hood, who had been neglectful

about visiting her grandmother for quite

some time, set out through the woods

to bring her grandmother, who was

very, very old and had been feeling ill

of late, cake for her 95th birthday

and some chicken soup so she might

regain her strength, but, unknown to

Little Red Riding Hood and her family,

her grandmother had died since her last

visit, and her grandmother’s faithful greyhound

had dug a grave and buried her. In fact,

the greyhound had just finished covering

grandmother over with dirt and bowing

its head in mourning when it caught a scent

in the air: Little Red Riding Hood at a distance,

with cake and chicken soup. The greyhound was

beside itself. It knew Little Red Riding Hood

was a very sensitive child and would be

overwrought with grief and guilt if she arrived

at her grandmother’s house only to learn

her grandmother had died during the months

and months since her last visit. What to do?

What to do? The greyhound dashed

through the woods as only greyhounds can

to catch a glimpse of the child and

reassure itself its nose had not lied

and then ran as fast as it could, which was

very fast indeed, back to grandmother’s house,

where it pushed open the door, bounded

up the stairs and into the bedroom

and dragged items of grandmother’s clothing

from the closet, which it somehow pulled on

over its long legs and taut body, and

jumped into bed and pulled up the covers

so when Little Red Riding Hood arrived

and went in the house and up to her

grandmother’s bedroom, she found

the greyhound, bundled up in her

grandmother’s clothing, lying in her

grandmother’s bed. Where’s grandmother?

Little Red Riding Hood asked, not for

one second fooled by the costumed greyhound,

but figuring the greyhound was bundled

as it was because greyhounds are very

sensitive to the cold and it was only keeping warm.

The greyhound had to confess that grandmother

had died. But it felt compelled to try to make

Little Red Riding Hood feel better, if it could.

It surely didn’t want her to think her grandmother

had died because of her neglect, so it

made up a story about a wolf that had

snuck into the house while it was off

hunting rabbits for the grandmother’s larder,

and how after the wolf had fatally injured

her grandmother, it arrived back home

with the rabbits only to find what had happened,

and drove the wolf off into the big river

to the east, which the wolf tried to swim across,

but was swept away and drowned. The greyhound

told Little Red Riding Hood how her grandmother

had suffered very little and had died quickly

before it even returned home from chasing

the wolf, and how it had given her grandmother

a proper burial. Tears rolled down Little Red

Riding Hood’s cheeks as she listened to the story,

and when it was done, she asked to visit

the grave, and, after, she and the greyhound

ate some cake, and then she led the greyhound

back to her home, where she embellished the story

a little and they lived ever after, happily or not.