Good I’ve watched this before.

Waking up to the ending. Guy driving his car into red light. Away into red light. Twangy guitar. Credits roll.

Slept through the whole thing.

Half-awake and very tired. Didn’t really want to nap. Came in from shooting cans. BB gun on the counter. Felt a little shake.

Dog immediately stretched out on the cool tile. Looked at me.

I thought alright, sit for a sec. Follow suit.

Flicked the TV on.

Now orange-blue light of the sun going down. Lit up cedar wood. Golden hour’s second wind.

See the glowing curtains covering the slider. The striped feather’s new spot.

Can’t stop yawning, Stuff to do. Face feels heavy and stuck. Heat-tired.

Rub my face to feeling. Sit up. Step over the dog still stretched out. Sit at the table.

There seems to be a pattern in the feather. Stippling in the stripes. An X. Dark red X. Black-red.

Blink the sleep from my eyes. Look again. It’s gone. Just a striped feather. Tan, rusty, black. No X anymore. Hmm.

Get. Open the curtains. See the yard. Look close at the yard. It’s all the same.

The dog’s up. Looks at me. Then sees the feather.

Good find, bud.

Look at the feather again. Try to make an X.

I don’t see it.

But I did.

The dog’s eating now and looking up at it between bites.

Yup. Good find.

Want to finish touching up the twenty. Today’s the day. Get it as clean as I can. See if the hammer clicks.

Go down with the new bag of supplies, cleaning things. Couple different kinds of brushes. Drop these on the garage floor. Down to the cellar a sec. Grab the two parts, the canvas bag, and towels. Back up to the garage. Put a couple towels on the floor.

It’s nice and cool.

The dog’s half-followed. Laying on the kitchen tile, head on the threshold watching. He can be funny.

Concrete’s cool but sitting down on it like this, straining my neck. Neck and back hurt.

Almost done though. Brushing away the gunk on the pin. The new brushes helped get what I couldn’t get before. Cleaned and oiled.

Snap the two pieces together. It all looks lined up. Snapped easy. Both hammers look good. Springs aren’t creaking any. Stand up with it. Sight down the barrel. Or is it barrels since it’s double. Want to learn the lingo right in case I have to say anything to anyone. Like I know what I’m saying. Responsible then because.

Picture the dog pointing and then the pheasant, flushed follow it up, still sighting.

Not there yet. No fresh pheasant, grouse, wild turkey for dinner yet.

Come on.

Up and into the kitchen. Look at the feather and still no X. I wish the painted bark was there too. Still there.

Only thing I can think is the Deacon and the key. Key not misplaced but taken. Deacon in the woods at the right time. Saw where Enn or Ranger put it. Enn or Ranger or whoever left. Deacon grabbed it. Or had Clara Bulzier do it.

Fill the dog’s bowl. Less kibble, extra eggs. Some yogurt.

How’s that though?

He’s drooling. Deluxe dinner. Yogurt freak.

Walk around the room when the dog eats. Look out the front window.

Deacon drives by.

Dirt road looks blue.

Dog’s licking his bowl like he wishes he wasn’t done.

Deacon drives by again from the other way.

Dog stops licking.

Quiet.

Turn around to look at the dog, I look at the feather.

Started the day at the lake. I’ll end it there.

Almost. I can’t sleep there. But you know.

It was nice. The dog liked it. You could hear the bullfrogs. Still thinking about it. It was quiet. Water still warm. Stood in the water for a few. The dog wouldn’t. He stayed at the edge watching. Stamping his feet. Whimpering. Clear night. Bugs starting coming out in droves. I’ve never actually said that out loud. Or ever before. It’s a phrase you hear in books. Older books.

Look at the stove. The fridge. I need to eat. What do you want to eat? What do you want to eat? What do you want, what do you want, what do you want to eat?

What tune is that? Repeat it. Started off like “Thank you very much—” but it didn’t end with the rest of the tune the “that’s nicest thing that anyone’s ever done for me.”

That’ll be stuck in my head.

Something easy.

Get the grill going.

Don’t feel like going through all that production though.

I don’t know. Production? Same as cooking inside and cleaning the kitchen after. How’s that easier. Both need setting up, preheating to an extent. Unless I amend the process. New order of operation. Culinary itinerary.

There’d be going inside and outside. Shutting it off, letting it cool before I cover it again.

What do I want?

The dog will want to be outside if he can.

Sitting around after eating. Not too bad, bud, huh?

Me and the dog on the floor. Glass of ice cold water on the table.

I used to call it supper. Growing up it was supper. It wasn’t called dinner. Dinner was reserved for something fancier or special. But one clue on one of the cross words said lunch used to be called dinner. And lunch generally seems casual so I don’t know what it was that way. But night time meal was supper.

To sup.

To din. Dine.

Just mostly say eat or drink now. No, I say dinner. Dog eats dinner at night. I think, What’s for dinner.

Dog only knows dinner actually. He doesn’t know supper.

Ah. Time up here, this trip up, is winding down.

Get up and shut the light about me and the dog off. Keep the kitchen light on. Nice lighting inside. Dim but not dark.

Drink and finish the water, give the dog the ice. Get up for a refill. The well water. Been tasting good. No problems. Look out the window. Light glowing from behind the trees. Reaching into the last of the day’s light. I like the way light lingers in the summer. Tops of trees sticking up, branches crossing, tangled. Too detailed to call it a silhouette.

Remember sitting in the front yard of the desert house with the dog. Mudbrick wall, six feet high, outlining the yard. Sitting in a lawn chair at dusk, everything but the sky blocked from view. A few trees too. Palms, piñion, the very top of a few mesquite and palo verde. Opuntia and ocotillo.

Or driving around at dusk and the saguaro sticking up into the pink and orange light.

Mmm.

The redwing da-duh-da duh duh.

I’m in a singing mood I guess.

Look back at the dog.

Just my shotgun, my dog, and meeeeee.

The almost silhouette of trees.

When does something become a silhouette? What degree of backlit and none of the object's details. Just shape.

Silhouette like a pile. When does something become a pile. One rock, grain of sand, log, billet? Two? Three? Nine? Is nine a small pile? Four-hundred and eighty a big pile?

Sit with the dog and my glass of water. Immediately have to get up to make sure there’s enough in his bowl.

What else should I do before we leave?

What do I need to do?

Shouldn’t always have to be like this with the Deacon.

Always hate to leave on the one hand. The other, it’ll be a relief.

Do whatever the dog wants to do.

I do need to make sure everything’s clean. Trash to the dump.

Mow the lawn around the strawberries.

Leave some of the seasoned wood in the fire pit ready to go. Cover it.

Swim one more time at least.

Oh yeah and go out with Flint, the dogs.

Watch the dog entertain himself. Sprinting laps around the living room.

It’s nice in this light. Dialed in. I like the way the light in the hood above the stove looks. Plenty of light for right now.

This crossword puzzle. I don’t know. Half trying to do it. I’m getting dumber.

The rain sounds good. But I hope it’s not tomorrow.

I can’t focus on this.

I am getting dumber. What is a Bokeh effect?

Swear it’s familiar somehow.

It’s all cause I lost the momentum I needed.

Watch the dog.

Let him do his thing.

Get up.

The junk drawer. What’s in the drawer. Cards? Yes. Card. They’ve been here as long as I can remember. This deck. Wonder if all the cards are here.

Solitaire?

I guess we’ll find out.

All set up. A beer would pair well. I could be better.

The dog stopped a minute ago. What are you doing?

And he’s off.

Pull the first cards. Ace of diamonds. It looks just like the diamond in the cedar above me.

Nathan Dragon is a writer whose work has appeared in NOON, The Baffler, Fence, and New York Tyrant. His forthcoming short story collection, The Champ Is Here, will be available from C4G Books later this year. The above piece is excerpted from a novel in progress. Along with Reagan Bird, he is the co-founder and editor of the publishing project Blue Arrangements.