That little dog

It's not really barking. It's digging, its mouth is a sharp tin spade and it's jabbing and jabbing into the air, creating little minus pockets where everything is moving outward. Jab jab jab the yapper's face pushes forward into those minus pockets, its little tail lifts her from the ground with each push. It's not bark bark bark, it's scoop scoop scoop. The air is cold wet sand tonight, I shudder even inside my orange sweater even inside my yellow room.