April Flash #8
prompts provided by:
Amygdala: he saw himself as a rebel; material things; relentless hunger
Haredawg: fishing line; grubby paw; fierce companion;
He saw himself as a rebel, that one. Grubby paws all over the table, relentless hunger despite how much he was fed. His fur matted and clumped then dropped all over the carpet despite how often I brushed him. Hed have to sit still long enough for the comb to run its way through that mess, and the second youd touch him, his tail would start wagging, which started a chain reaction starting from his hind legs and working its way up, making him look like a reverse bobble head, whole body jiggling in time to the attention except his head, tongue sticking out, nips of pleasure exuding from his over excited mouth. He was a fierce companion, sticking that cold wet nose in the small of my back in the early morning hours, stealing the blankets, riding in the front seat like an over-willing copilot, a navigator who didnt care where we went, as long as he was going too. He went everywhere with me. He was a bull of a dog, a giant floppy eared mess who liked to think of himself as a lap dog, jumping up on the couch during inappropriate moments when human contact was a long-forgotten thing. He knew all my secrets, and didnt tell a soul, no matter else who came and went from our humble beginnings. He was loyal, independent and protective nothing, no one ever came between the two of us. They would have to wrestle with the monster to have a chance of sitting next to me, he claimed that space as his territory. I was his territory, really anywhere that I was, anywhere that I went, I was his, his paws landing on my lap, my shoulders, my chest, headbutting my stomach. I probably could have ridden him down the street instead of walking him. I always got the comments, the questions why did I have such a big dog for such a little girl, wasnt it dangerous? No and really, I had little choice in the matter, from the moment our eyes met in the pound years ago, I knew he was the one. He chose me, whining and pawing at the bars of the too small cage. I had to get him out of there.
He was there the summer I took up fly fishing on a whim, on some daydreamed desire to reconnect with nature. And by reconnect I mean wading, hip deep in river water, casting a line, catching life on the end with a hook, then letting it go. He though he could chase the fish to me, splashing and cavorting in the water like a wayward child. His spirit was free. And I lived vicariously in that freedom. He would get tangle dup in the fishing line, rolling over and over in it, then looking up at me with that expression of both elation and chagrin. I lost count of the many times I had to cut him loose, ruining all my line in the process and wed trudge back home, empty handed but full hearted. When the accident happened, I couldnt walk him anymore but friends melted out of the woodwork to take over the responsibility, always bringing him home on time like a teenager out on a date. He would whine when they showed up, leash in hand, head nuzzled on my useless lap despite how much he needed to go outside, he never wanted to leave me. Hed come back and resume his watchful gaze, standing like a stone gargoyle over me, a guardian. I think he felt responsible that I was hurt in the first place, even though he hadnt been there. He took it personally that my protector had been unable to protect me from this. And when the sickness came, he would fetch me the paper, would bring me the remote. All for a pat on the head and a whispered thanks. I never began to truly live until he entered my world, that tangled mess of pound puppy. And because of his innocence, I experienced life in a world of forced-adulthood. But he was ever the rebel loyal, dependable, but dont tell him that. His ears would cock back, head tilted and hed bark and bray at you until you took it back. His material thing was me and he was all I ever knew of love. It was enough. Overflowing.
new prompts: question of integrity; communal mind; driving force