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| The riverbank |
Bizarre,
isn't it. I have begun to talk to my dog. We don't discuss philosophy
or national politics or anything like that – we just sit together
and she nuzzles approvingly every time I have a witty or amusing
thought. Of course, I don't need to share it out loud with her - how weird is that - she
understands perfectly and eyebrow-speak is quite sufficient. We share a common language in an arcane and almost religious way. When it's
feeding time she sits down, briefly, then rises as if there's a burr
on the floor that she's just sat on. Remembering herself, she sits
again, licking her lips. Meanwhile, I open the door to the food
cupboard. She trots forward, then, recalling I don't much care for poor manners, sits again. Luncheon is served.
Dogs
have moved in next door. Three of them, girlies to a man. They do
what all women do when they get together, twitter, chatter and fuss, doubtless
discussing the relative merits of different brands of kibble. Large and boisterous, they are like three Lancashire lasses in search of booze and boys on a Friday night. My
little girl, unaccountably, wants to join in so there's a short but
intense barkfest as we pass the vixens' den on our morning outing.
She's a
sociable girlie. Friends with all, except the homicidal white Russian
wolfhound across the pathway who disembowelled a careless visitor a
while back. On our afternoon jaunt the other day, we went as usual to
the expanse of common where the tall grasses slow her down a bit.
There was a lady, dressed in one of those funny peaked visors,
sitting on the grass, reading. Even at a distance, her discomfiture
was palpable. At our approach, she looked round nervously as if to
find a place to hide. I thought it best to keep Girlie and self a
discreet distance before unleashing. But, no. Obedience decreasing as the square of separation meant that from thirty metres away instruction was meaningless. In consequence, friendliness and
curiosity got the better of her and she bounded up to the lady, who
was clearly catatonic with fear, and announced her goodwill by
jumping all over her. The stupid woman started screaming and waving
her arms about, which amused Girlie no end and she had to be dragged
away, both of us helpless with laughter and trying not to show it.
It's
rather fun when one has a dog, since one has to develop something of
a canine perspective, according to the book I've got which is readily
to hand in the bathroom - the only room in the house where I can be sure to be alone. We discuss the book together, Girlie and me. Large upright persons are chieftains of some
description, High Ups, and if you jump all over them, most of
them don't much care for it – but it doesn't matter because you
know they're friends, really. Then there are the smaller versions who squeak and giggle and turn out to be remarkably easy to knock over. If this happens, some
kind of shrill altercation tends to take place where small person is
raised heavenward by larger variety, which, of course, makes them
harder to get at to play with and jumping up to try seems to make
things so very much worse. And, why are the Big People so fussy about
their clothes? It's only a bit of mud on the Versace – it'll wash
off.
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| Enough, already. |
