The Lazy Dog

(A parody?)

It was an evening like any other, dust kicked up by passing caravans rising up from the muddy road. The lazy dog stretched out, that is to say, if such an act as stretching out could be performed, in the little corner that it lay curled in. Perhaps, in hindsight, calling the dog lazy will be questioned by many, as the exploits of the dog in the words to come, will prove it to be anything, but lazy. However, as at the time that these words were penned, the event referred to had hardly occurred, and there was no indication, whatsoever, that the dog possessed any such attributes, that negated the popularly held perception of it being a lazy dog, a humble submission is made to be allowed to call the dog lazy, as calling it by any other name, will not allow this narrative to flow further.

As it stretched out, or performed the equivalent of such an act, within the narrow confines of the space that it was forced to inhabit, it sneezed,but naturally, in reaction to the rising dust.(The word occupied was used earlier, but occupation, as is widely known, is often an act that is forced upon. No dog really wants to occupy another dog’s land, but as equitable distribution of wealth and concentration of terror are equally barking issues in the world of dogs as in that of man, the lazy dog could only locate the curling space to perform its stretches)

A Hardy-esque description of the settings hardly will do justice to the dreariness of the place. Suffice, it will, to say, that the theatre that the lazy dog had chosen for its performance, had never earlier found mention in the annals of history, or chronicles of breaking news, and probably never will again, either.

Then what of the dog, it is asked. Was it yellow, brown or cream in colour ? A mongrel, surely, after all, who leaves pedigreed dogs on dusty roads? Though it must be stated here that the dog was not actually on the road…as it was away from it.Though what difference would colour make to a lazy dog.Colouring it jet black, like the raven tresses of a fair Arab maiden, will only take away from the tale of the lazy dog, and into the deserts of Arabia.One might even hear song ,see dance and drink sherbet, and lost in the glamour, then, will be the story of a lazy dog,

(..to think that this was actually written to amuse another lazy dog waiting for a call…..and to think that a Maupassant tale actually set this rolling…and to think that the first person (or is it the third?) has not been used once, in this maddening tale-whoa!!)

Qhipa-Nayra

I found an old shopping list in the mess that you hated. Meticulous and sequential…started with toothpaste, ended in candles. Mine mostly start and end with chips and chocolates and miss out on the things that I do need. You always did worry too much, thought too much about things that didn’t deserve any of that… I am still left with bars of soap from the last time I bought things from your list.

There are things we got each other, that neither of us wore or used, old gift boxes, contents long-forgotten; journals that I care too much about, to read anymore; books that were a refuge from each other, postcards and cards that you held onto, letters that you refused to shred, cobwebs that remain a flimsy, complex link to a time that was.

You wouldn’t want this chaos to be any sort of shrine to you. But then, everything seems to have a memory, a story, a presence and infinitely more value than it should. We lived here, after all. Rosewood cupboards, mirrors that don’t reflect youth anymore, faded writing on yellowing paper….if life was just a bunch of things that one could pack into a cardboard carton, and toss away or just stash into a loft, would it be easier to live without grieving? A box that one could open, add to and destroy at will.

I saw a lady yesterday, shining diamond earrings to match her shining white hair, a backpack to boot….you would have liked to see her, and you would have loved to be her, I know.

[Qhipa-Nayra]