One :
Larry was most certainly a dog not so much as a determined animal searching for love.
He was not owned or employed, his duty was to love and hope it may be returned in kind.
The scent of his paws on my shoulders displayed submission understanding and strenght.
This dog knew his power and the power of love.
It was unknown territory upon which I wandered scattering dust with my walking boots.
A snake would often threaten me, a wiggling venomous worm of no stature.
A dog would embrace me as best he could with his hands around me, he did not slither.
He survived with sleep and happy dreams and knowing that when he awoke - I would be there.
I was comforted by this dog of fur and wolf and his memories or nuture and safety.
He was a master of survival and he had no fear.
In one day he would sleep for seven, each awakening revealing his faith in me.
We slept together, he curled at the bed foot pressing his body on me to absorb my warmth.
So much taller than me once on his hind legs and so passive and acceptive of grace.
He carried no fear, he had no concept of time. Every day passed and he snouted.
Presenting himself in mornings with soil stuck on his nose, yearning at me for attention.
So proud of his efforts nuzzling the bones I gave that he would save them in earth.
I was not dog, I could not sleep I could not forget, I had no influence to undo happenings.
My sleep became infused with memories but only one of his seven.
He had no knowledge of human knowledge, his genes were sufficient enabling to survive.
Should I sleep so often I would learn more, should I sleep so often my life would be short.
Two :
Before granma's house we lived in a garage, a room quadruple car in size and offering shelter.
Watching the house expand like a wooden cobweb further up the slope almost near the top of land.
I was oblivious to days and nights that were heralded by my dip in the tin tub full of carefully controlled hot and warm buckets of water bathing my little body.
Granma showed little restraint and would pluck me from the tub wrapping me in towels to stop me shaking like a dog.
Carrying me outside I made every effort to dampen her dress completely.
Strung by a rope tied to two trees she pegged me by my ankles until I was drip dry.
If I dried well I was clothed and fed, if I did not I would awake damp.
The garage heralded the approach to the house, it sat on level land at the base of the driveway.
It was on the only flat ground but seemed to be a slice of heaven to me.
The clothesline hung for twenty meandering yards above a tiny path fringed with moss too beautiful.
There was peace in the air and I was in no hurry to grow up - all I saw was routine.
How many tracks I walked and did not remember was significant, my little dusty boots scuffed the surface and added to the worn trough of progress.
My steps up the mountain towering above this haven proved insignificant, too many paths, too many distractions, too many lonely homes and gardens littered with neglect as I shuffled by.
There was nothing significant to me other than authority. I could do whatever I wished as long as I adhered to rules.
If there were rules I wondered who administered them and how they would punish me if I did not adhere to conformity.
Solace was found at the foot of the driveway and the fringe of risen land upon the garaged perched.
When it rained a trickle became a stream and a stream became a river and a river became a torrent.
Three :
Let loose from adult command I wandered and wondered, encountered and surmised about me.
Larry would often leap at me resting his paws on my shoulder, giving me his pleasure of his dog life.
As tall as me on his hind paws wagging his tail in the dust he had little knowledge of his mortality.
Just a dog considered by me as an accessory to my placidity confirming my presence.
When he leaped at me, profounding love and misunderstanding was insignifiacant, I was only small.
He would watch me moving the earth because he could not dig like I could.
The tin shed perched on the high spot of the lowest land and the creek gathered itself around me.
If I be wading knee deep in flowing waters, damming the flow, diverting torment, I was happy.
As content as a dog and as incompetant as a tadpole I dammed the creek to control its flow.
Waist high in the pond I created diversions, walls of mud directing the flow, pools of placidity.
Tadpoles were a plaything that might not survive. Those that did struggled hard.
I never saw a tadpole with a label of 'I am the one'. I felt sorry for all those who never made the grade.
I considered the numerical significance of their being in a pond for me to play with.
I needed to change things.
School was only pacing, not encouraging. Crystalizing sandwhiches and chalk dust and no one willing to be my friend.
When grades were assigned I became only a statistic representing a mediorce adherance to learning.
Other kids had parents but they were singular without a thousand siblings.
I never had parents, I did not know how significant I might be.
Larry came to me, tadpoles welcomed my nurture in their pond, I could pile all I wished.
But I could not be neccesary. Of the thousands of tadpoles not many would live.
It seemed the same for me.
I had no wings attached, I was not bouyant but only weighed with a burden I failed to understand.
Carried by wings not feet that would never cover my steps.
My most sincere statemant was refusing to eat and wait for anything to happen.
And I wandered.
Dog paws on my shoulders, tadpoles in pools of placidity, comfort with cuudles.
Snuggling into breasts hanging free for me to nuzzle their prominance and heat.
I learnt early that they offered their skin not their soul; that could not be disclosed.
Four :
Chicks in a pen full of scuff and droppings and yet they know how to avoid crap. Their legs are spindly their beaks forage and nod.
Lucky for them that their arse is so removed from their brain.
When I shit it is my bum that squeezes turds curved at their ends so as my clakker will not slam shut.
The noise I hear must be the punch of my door forcing itself closed around my dreams..
If my sun will be still loving you it will still cast a shadow you may not savour.
At this age I already had no answer.
Life was to big and maybe I should not dare to question.
If I should not state as I exist - only a part of the soup of people tainted with the spice of life.
My spice of life seemed to be delivered in sandwiches I was unable to assemble.
Vary as I may, time tells - it does not mentor, it obstructs my progress.
Wallowing in my pond I was happy wiggling my tail and watched tadpoles wiggling theirs.
They could not be happy but only one of their thousands could expect relief but he was of little mind.
Struggling forwards from her womb attached by a cord to my prison and now presented for observation and a slap on the arse, I was now here and it had not been a pleasant journey.
TBC
