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"It was a hallucination." Dr. Schmidt said matter of factly, twisting his pen with two fingers.
"It couldn't have been. It was so real."
Dr. Schmidt sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "I think it may be time to re-think going on medication, Anders."
"I won't go on medication."
"You are imagining things"
"I didn't imagine it. It was real."
"How sis it go?" Renee asked him, in the car on the way home.
"Fine." He said softly. glancing over at her for a second and then looking back out the window.
"Are you Ok?"
"Yea." he said, fidgeting, "He's just giving me some hard stuff to deal with."
"Well," she said, "no one said this would be easy." She reached over and patted his hand gently.
He continued looking out the window and remembering the white dog. It had to be real, he told himself.
He replayed the event in his mind. Daryl had asked him to take the trash out, and he looked forward to sneaking a cigarette while doing so. He didn't usually smoke, but lately it was something that calmed him down. He took solace in the head rush that the poison he was inhaling delivered, and comfort in the fact that every cigarette took about 10 minutes off his life.
The trash bag was heavy and cumbersome. He maneuvered it awkwardly through the doors, down the long hallway toward the loading dock, where two agitated co-workers argued about a packing list. He past unnoticed, through the fire doors and into the overcast, heavy air.
He hurled the bag into the dumpster, it landed with a thud. He looked around and saw no one, and took a few steps out of view of the loading dock. There was a coffee can strategically placed here that employees used as an astray. He remembered the time last winter when it caught on fire.
He reached slowly and deliberately into his left pocket and groped for the pack of cigarettes. For a split second he panicked at not feeling them there. Sneaking out for a smoke was hardly sneaking when you had to run back in to grab your smokes. Quickly, he checked the other pocket and breathed a sigh of relief that they were there. He pulled them out along with the Bic lighter, and lit one up with a long indulgent drag.
Blowing the smoke out he gazed into the woods behind the building. Heavy due lay on the grass beneath his feet and fog settled like the ghosts of lost souls clinging to the base of the trees. "The woods are lovely, dark and deep." he thought.
He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, his free hand hung loose at his side, relaxed. When suddenly it was tapped by something cold and wet. He pulled back, startled. Turning, he saw a beautiful white dog, standing at his side, it's eyes peering up at him like two blue beacons in the snow. The dog panted and nudged his hand again. He petted the top of it's head and scratched the back of it's neck. It whimpered softly and lowered it's head.
The dog resembled a wolf. But there were no wolves around here. There was something almost supernatural about it, how it had come seemingly out of nowhere. It didn't look like a stray. This dog was well fed and well taken care of. It could have been someone's loose pet, he thought. But there was no collar.
He heard footsteps approaching, panicking, thinking it might be Daryl, he turned to see one of the new temps walking toward him, cigarettes lit between his lips. Turning around he saw the dog running away.
His thoughts shifted back to reality. He didn't understand why seeing a dog was such a hard story to believe. It's not like dogs are rare. But a dog like this one wasn't all that common.
He turned and looked at Renee, "He thinks I hallucinated the white dog."
"Do you think you hallucinated it?" she asked.
"No."
"Well if he knows about the dreams you have about white dogs, and the fact that you had a white dog as a teenager, he might be assuming you hallucinated it based on that." she suggested.
Who's side was she on anyway, he thought to himself.
