THE DOGS OF SOCHI

1 2 4 Y T H E D O G S O F S O C H I B E N J A M I N S . G R O S S B E R G Shot with poisoned darts, tossed in trucks. Can you imagine that? The questing snout snapping back toward the stung flank, the flux of rising pavement, two-legged blur, a shout before you’re hefted by front legs, thrown on a pile of your kind – the cold, sour tang of death encircling, theirs and your own – and then, perhaps, nothing. But one sprang free – the News said one – small, red, prick-eared – the dart dropped o√, she shook, bolted the mound of bodies, leapt out, hit the street, heard them scrambling after and shot from the sound. Just one. You taste the air rushing on her tongue, the push of blood and breath, a running song. ...