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Sisterly rivalry
A single solitary dog, is always in essence just pure dog. Well-groomed or feral, toy or massive, still and poised, or a blur of motion; we are trained from infancy to know the dog in all its forms. We ascribe to them a set of characteristics, a warm body by our fireside feet, the speed of footsteps squelching down the muddiest path, a tongue that waves through panting breaths.
But dogs are another matter entirely. Dogs, dog plural, will switch domesticity on and off in the flick of a tail. It only takes two to make a pack. We are so familiar with it that we hardly notice the coyotes they’ve become, but if we freeze the moment, then we will see jackals bickering at the water bowl, or hyenas joyfully scrapping over the carcass of a squeaky toy. The pack of two are still your pets, but as two they are dogs who remember being wolves.
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