Visions of a Dark Horizon

By Chad Anctil

The security camera setup was my wife’s idea, due to the amount of packages she got on a weekly basis, and the ever-increasing threat of ‘porch pirates’ in the neighborhood.  It wasn’t an expensive setup, just a couple hundred bucks, all connected to the home WiFi, but the cameras had a nice clear picture, and there was a feature to identify what the camera was seeing, so we would get little alerts that popped up on our phones, like ‘animal detected, back yard’ or ‘package detected, front porch’.  

When we first got the cameras installed, we would always look at the feed whenever we got an alert.  Usually it was nothing – someone walking by, or a squirrel in the backyard.  Sometimes it would be something cute, like a bird perching on the camera housing.  One time the backyard camera alerted us to a bumble bee that was just hovering in front of the lens – really adorable stuff.  

Eventually the novelty of the system wore off, and we only checked the feed occasionally.  We knew anything in the backyard was just going to be squirrels or birds, or sometimes the occasional neighborhood cat.  Once in a while we would catch a chubby raccoon or a skunk looking for a snack, but it was rarely that interesting.  

The front porch camera was more diverse, however, capturing neighbors walking by or school kids headed to the bus stop down at the corner.  Of course we always knew when the mail or packages were delivered, the system worked great for that and we never had to worry about getting valuable packages stolen; that gave my wife great peace of mind.  For myself, however, what I came to love about that camera was the dog walkers.  

I have always loved dogs; all kinds of dogs, big or small.  We can’t have a dog, due to allergies, but I have always loved watching them, at rest or at play.  Our neighborhood is a quiet one, and our house is just down the street from a large local park, so all day we would see alerts like ‘person detected, front porch’ and see someone walking their dog past the house, down towards the park.  I checked all the alerts that popped up, and I got to know a lot of the local dogs, if not by name, at least by sight.  The playful golden retriever and his harried owner, who was usually paying more attention to her phone than her pet.  The huge Great Dane walking calmly beside her diminutive owner.  The stately German Shepherd walking patiently beside an elderly man, sometimes stopping to ensure his owner could keep up.  

There was a pair of yappy Pekingese who came by daily, and they constantly tangled their leashes as they ran to investigate every little thing.  The funniest thing about the Pekingese twins was their walker was a large, muscular man who wore denim vests and engineer boots and carried a chain wallet, but he doted affection on those little dogs and sometimes just picked them up and kissed them for no reason.  They were absolutely adorable and I loved seeing them – ‘dog-cam’, as my wife called it, was a fun daily distraction I looked forward to, sneaking peeks in when I was at work all day, just to check in on the dogs.  

Things changed when the pandemic hit – remember the pandemic?  Well I was one of the lucky ones, and my job moved remote so I could work from home.  The only place to set up my workstation, so I could work uninterrupted, was in the front room looking out the window onto the porch and the front yard.  This was a comfortable space to work, and it had the added advantage of letting me watch the dogs in real time, not just on the security camera app, which I enjoyed very much.  

Over the weeks and months, a pattern would solidify for me.  As I sat at work, my phone would alert and I’d see ‘person detected, front porch’ and instead of opening the camera app, I would peek out over my monitor to see who it was, and if it was a dog walker I would just watch them amble by.  In the nicer weather, for some of them I might even step out on the porch, giving them a wave and a smile.  Sometimes one of the dogs might even see me and run over, and with the permission of their owner I might give them a scratch or a pat between the ears and tell them they were a good dog.  It was a small thing, but it grounded me and always made me smile.  When I was having a bad day, seeing some of the dogs, especially the Pekingese or the bouncy golden, would always buoy my spirits.  

The security cameras were a decent system and overall they were reliable, but no software is perfect, so sometimes it might mis-identify things it alerted on.  ‘Person detected, backyard’ might pop up for a squirrel, for example.  Because of this, it wasn’t terribly unusual when I would see ‘person detected, front porch’ and not see a person, or see ‘animal detected, front porch’ and see a car driving by when I peeked over my monitor to check.  I didn’t think anything of it, then, when I saw ‘person detected, front porch’ and saw only a familiar German Shepherd walking himself calmly down the street towards the park.  

Unleashed dogs weren’t that common in the neighborhood, but they were not unheard of, and the local leash laws weren’t really enforced.  As long as a dog was well behaved and didn’t chase people, they were mostly left to complete whatever doggy mission or exploration they might be on.  I recognized the Shepherd, of course; his name was Odin and he belonged to an elderly man who lived one street over, Arthur.  He was an older dog and always well behaved.  I imagined his owner might not be able to take him for his walk to the park, and so Odin was just tracing the familiar, well-worn path on his own.  

The third or fourth time I saw this – ‘person detected, front porch’ and Odin walking himself calmly down the street, it was a gray day and the clouds were threatening rain, I could feel it in the air.  I stepped out onto the porch and called out to the dog, who turned to look at me, seeming confused, then turned to look behind him, then back to me.  He walked over to me slowly, and as he approached I could see the years reflected in his eyes, his gray-flecked muzzle, and there was a certain sadness that he carried.  He sat in front of me and I pet him calmly, talking to him and asking where his owner was, when I heard someone calling for him.  

There was a middle aged woman with a kind face walking slowly towards us, a red leash in her hand that I remembered as the leash I would see on Odin when his owner was walking him.  

“Hello.  I’m Brian.” I said, standing.  “I was just having a chat with Odin here.”  

“I’m Amanda.” she replied with a nod, then knelt down to clip the leah onto Odin’s collar. “He keeps slipping out.” she said with a heavy sigh.  “And he always seems to come this way.” 

“He and his owner, Arthur, walk by here every day headed down to the park.” I said with a smile, patting Odin on his head gently.  “He’s probably just missing his walks.” 

“Arthur was my dad,” Amanda said softly, and I could see she carried the same sadness that Odin did, and I realized the sad truth.  

“I’m sorry.” I replied, I think more to Odin than to the woman who had just lost her father, but she nodded and thanked me.  

“He went in his sleep.” she said, “So that’s a blessing, I suppose.  We all knew it was coming, mentally, but… You’re never really ready for it, emotionally.” she shook her head.  Her eyes were puffy.  “Anyway, thank you for looking after Odin, I think this has been as hard on him as it has on anyone.” 

I nodded in agreement, but couldn’t think of anything to say.  She started walking back the way she came, pulling on Odin’s leash, but the dog didn’t seem to want to follow.  

“Maybe…  Maybe try taking him down to the park.  His old route.” I suggested.  Amanda shrugged and nodded, and as soon as she started heading towards the park, Odin stood up and fell in beside her, walking just as he had walked with her father, with a bit more wag in his tail.  I watched the pair head down to the end of the street and around the corner before heading back into the house.  

Why I did what I did next, I can’t explain.  Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe there was some strange feeling in the back of my head, but as I got back into the house, I opened the security camera app, and I looked at the most recent feed.  There I was, talking to Amanda, and there was Odin sitting calmly, but then…  

It was the video from the initial alert, ‘person detected, front porch’, and there was Odin, walking down the street.  And there was Arthur, or at least some fragment of him, some faded memory that remained, a wispy gray apparition gliding silently beside his loyal dog for one last walk.  I stared at it, transparent but solid, undefined but having the same build and pace I had seen a hundred times or more.  

I saw myself step out on the porch and call to Odin, and I saw his confusion, and then that turn – he turned back, to look up at Arthur, look up at his lifelong companion, and then did I see, barely perceptible, that thin shadowy figure nod ‘yes’ before the dog walked over to me, the shadowy figure disappearing behind him as he came over to sit calmly in front of me.

And finally, I checked the feed as Amanda and Odin had walked away, back down towards the park, and I felt the tears well up in my eyes.  Maybe it was a sudden break in the clouds, or maybe it was something else, but as the pair walked away, there seemed to be a column of light that bathed them both in a warm glow, following them down the street until they were around the corner and out of view.