1 When Captain Mikee was a little boy, he loved two things. He loved the desert, the desert so big and powerful that fearing it seemed foolish, like fearing the sky or fearing your mother. He also loved his dog, a little dog that had joined up with Mikee a few months ago, which to both of them felt like forever. The small, tan boy and the small, white dog would often go down to the rocky edge of the desert and play in the cracked ground. Their bellies were full, and the sun was high, and the concerns of daily life were far away. When they got tired they would sit and talk, and when they had rested they would go into the town to find some food. On one very special day, they were playing in the sand when suddenly everything began to move slowly. A large gila monster approached the dog and, very slowly, bit the dog in half. Just as suddenly things returned to normal and Mikee dragged the remaining half of the dog atop a nearby boulder. Oh, Mikee cried, this is tragic, my friend. You are going to die. No, said the dog, looking in confusion at Mikee, why should this be? Alas, said Mikee, you cannot see your bright red blood stain the leathery-tan sand, you cannot see the purple of your innards mix with the green of the sagebrush. I see these things, said the dog, if not in the colors that you do. And I am not afraid. The dog said no more. Mikee threw him onto the ground. The gila monster returned to finish the meal, but now things began to move quickly. Mikee grabbed a large, spiky rock and hurled it as hard as he could, crushing the skull of the lizard. Mikee sat down again to mourn. When he saw that the salt on his cheeks was from the salty flats and not from tears, he took the gila monster into the town and traded it for a pair of boots.

--Mike B.