Pages From a Dog's Diary
#8 of Short Stories
The dog pays me a visit now and then, while I'm sitting at my desk, working.
I think he is part terrier, but when I ask about his breeding, he simply sniffs and asks for a treat.
In return, he shares his view of the world, seen from his perspective.
Pages From a Dog's Diary #1
I have often wondered, what was behind the green gate. It looked as if it was never opened; old and dusty, on rusty hinges and with thick layers of green paint flaking off.
But today, someone had left that gate slightly ajar, and I sneaked inside.
Behind the gate was nothing more than an unkempt garden, with an old wooden shed and a rickety bench, where a ginger cat snoozed in a ray of sunlight. As I walked closer, she opened a single yellow eye and glanced me over, lazily as if I were of no importance.
"This sunlight is mine," she said. "Go find your own."
"I don't want your spot," I said. "There's thousands of sunny patches in town."
The cat stretched, until she covered the entire patch.
"Not like this one." she said, and looked very content.
From where I stood, the little spot of sunlight was nothing out of the ordinary.
"There's sunlight down by the pier," I said. "And in the park, and by the fire hydrant on Rose Street where all dogs meet, and..."
The cat sighed.
"You always talk this much?" She asked.
"I didn't realize I..."
"You dogs are so noisy," said the cat. "nearly as bad as humans."
"Sorry!"
"Listen!" she said.
I pointed my ears in all directions.
"I don't hear anything."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing except the wind and the rustling leaves."
"And that's exactly how it should be," said the cat.;
I left the backyard as quietly as I had entered, and walked back into the busy street. How curious it is to have such a place of quietness and contemplation right behind a simple wooden gate -a secluded world of peace and small patches of sunlight, old crooked trees and grass like a velvet carpet, and sparrows who jump quietly from one branch to another.
And outside, the streets with its colorful cars, and pale humans who run to catch their breath, and maneuver around other overweight shoppers with their bags and baskets. They toot their horns and scream at each other, and make loud noises that make your ears itch. Then they turn a corner, and in the next moment, the same people greet someone they know, with a big smile on their face. Yet their eyes remain vacant. All for what? Eventually they are all searching for that same peace. The one that was always there, right behind that rickety green gate.
I made a stop outside the butchers. They had a pig's head on display in the window. That head too was smiling, but how quaint it looked, all accompanied by sausages and salads. I found Bull, Tico and Bob around the corner. Bob had discovered a string of sausages by the butcher's dumpster, and now my friends were sharing their loot.
"Have one," Bob said. He is a rotund bulldog, with a perpeptually solemn face, but a caring soul. You can still be joyful, even when you're not smiling.