Habitué

Intelligent blue eyes are closed in contented sleep. Patience is his virtue, loyalty his life's debt. Coarse brownish-green grass tickles his muzzle as a swift breeze gives motion to the tall weeds. Turning his massive head slightly to rest on his right outstretched paw, his nose brushed across a patch of raw dirt and embedded pebbles.

An early spring insect flew around his straight alert ears. Twitching immediately on contact, the insect took flight and landed on his other ear. Shaking his head in annoyance, he returned once again to his sweet dreams, ignoring the small insect as it took to preening on the tip of his nose.

Parked aways off a winding, high coastal road, a lone car sat close to the rocky cliff's edge. The sound of the surf was soft.

A wicker basket rested near the car's front wheel, a small plate of pastries was placed on the closed lid, and linen napkins sat next to the basket on the ground. Leaning against an early model MG bug-eyed Sprite, a young man stared thoughtfully into the distant horizon, a slight frown furrowed his brow and gave a pouty fullness to his mouth. He held a half-filled cup of tea casually between his two palms.

Beside him of the hood of the car, draping over the edge, was a wool blanket. On top of the blanket, set neatly, was a plate ladened with grapes, apple halves, and a pear. A china teapot sat on the other side.

The sleeves of his Ralph Lauren cream sweater were pulled past his elbow. Strong forearms, dusted with dark hair, were exposed to the chill of the late morning air. The sky above was a slight grey, and the landscape was as clear as a black and white photograph.

Ottmar Liebert's song "Waiting For A Star To Fall," played from the portable CD player inside the car. The CD was on repeat, so the song would play over and over again to his heart's content.

After taking one last sip of his tea, he set the teacup next to the plate of fruit. He grimaced as the cold tea slid down his throat. Stretching his broad shoulders, he straightened his relaxed fit khaki slacks over lean, narrow hips, and ran a graceful long-fingered hand over the shiny green finish of his car. Gathering the barely touched food and teapot, he packed them away into the wicker basket. Throwing the blanket onto the passenger seat, he carefully placed the basket in the limited space behind the seat.

Running his hand absently through his tussled, mid-cheek mahogany curls, he watched a bird overhead with thick-lashed, impassive eyes. Turning toward the car once more, he felt a heavyweight on his leg. Gesturing to the car, he said, "In, Glory, in."

Without hesitating, the sleek muscled body of the three-fourths wolf jumped on to the wool blanket and sat chest out like a marble statue. Folding his tall frame into the driver's seat, he switched on the engine and felt the powerful machine purr to life. He felt tremendous satisfaction as he maneuvered the little car onto the road.

*High school writing project, written many moons ago.