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In a thick coat with fur lining the hood, she, probably a first year psychology undergraduate on a day off due to snow, with heavy red lipstick, walks with a Frisbee in her hand but the dog fixed on a leash. The dog’s soft paws make it dance as it struggles to stand on all fours, on the ice. By the way it moves, it looks feminine and she keeps looking at the psychology undergraduate and barking for the Frisbee. The song in the girl’s ears must have stopped because she looks down and seeing that the dog’s eyes will move anywhere the Frisbee in her hand will, she starts teasing the dog and I can see that she, the dog, can’t take much more of it. Finally, she throws the Frisbee and the dog takes off, quickstepping her way over the cold snow. I watch the leash tighten and the choke chain close around the dog’s neck just as she reaches the Frisbee.
The psychology undergraduate stands still, slips a strap off her shoulder and unzips her bag. She takes out a pad and pencil and notes something down, drawing a long line before applying a heavy full stop. When she puts it away, she walks over to the end of her leash, finally loosening it and says, “Now that’s what we call an experiment. Dog obedience, Missy. That’ll teach you never to bark at me.” Missy looks up at the undergraduate and wheezes. The undergraduate then leans in with her earphone free ear and when she hears nothing but the slow tapping of cold paws, slips the choke chain from around the dog’s neck.
Little red droplets burrow deeply into the fresh snow, a girl screams and 200 yards away a dog drops a Frisbee from its mouth and as it dances in the snow its heavy red lips bark away. When it stops, picks up its Frisbee and skips away, I realise that I’ve never been very good at drawing, so I slip the strap off my shoulder, take my camera out of my bag and snap the image of the girl dancing on the snow in front of me. I figure that if a picture tells a thousand words then it might not be stupid to think that I could change my major to psychology because I think I’ve got enough research here to write a third of the first year’s papers, and I’m sure there’s a few solutions to old psychology problems in this picture, and if there’s not a theory to explain it, the picture, the behaviour and all the what happened and why, then on my first day I could submit this and name it after Missy, wherever she may be.
Jason Vandaele was born in Belgium; in the years since, he has studied, worked and played in Europe, Japan and America, penning short stories along the way.
