Liz Spikol

I have never abused my dog. I’ve never beaten her with a stick, but she’s afraid of sticks. Nor have I hit her with the empty box to a printer cartridge, a large woolen throw pillow, an iPhone stylus, an asthma inhaler, a bra or an Ikea lapdesk. And yet these, too, are things that cause her to curve her body into a little beige comma and creep backward, eyes down, as though each item is laced with explosives. The only things she’s not afraid of are food, piles of warm laundry and her dog bed, which she occupies approximately 23 hours a day. …