Pages From a Dog’s Diary #3
#10 of Short Stories
The dog doesn't wear a name tag, so I just call him "dog" whenever he comes around for a brief visit.
He doesn't mind, although he probably has a proper name. I feed him a few scraps, then I put down my pen and listen as he tells me
about life, seen from a dog's perspective. Sometimes I even learn a little.
It really doesn't take much - a warm space under the kitchen table, the simmering kettle on the polished stove - Mrs Grant's quiet humming of a popular song.You could also say, it takes a whole lot, but mostly it's the sum of tiny things that makes life so bearable. A few smiles and a touch of friendliness - a bit of support when needed. My best friend Rollo's easy demeanor.
On my way here, a large bearded human took a swing at me with an iron pipe he was carrying. A massive, adult human, bearded and wearing heavy boots. I don't understand what pleasure he could derive from lashing out at me - I was only minding my own business. I turned around and could not help smiling. I watched this hulk of a human, and I smiled at the tiny person who was actually hiding inside this overly large suit of clothes. But I see this every day, and it's nearly always giant humans who display this odd weakness. It really doesn't take much.
The weather is still gray and there's frost in the air when darkness falls. Then the streetlights turn on as if touched by magic. Truly, humans are clever. They come up with the most wondrous inventions, but also with bewildering follies. Rollo has nodded off to the lullaby of the simmering kettle, Mrs Grant sits quietly by the table reading a book. Now she turns, and soon the cooking pan pops and sputters. Then Rollo wakes up, as the lovely sounds and smells fill the kitchen. It really doesn't take much to make life bearable.