The noise, the smell, the mess and my life

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “A Dog Named Bob.”

the sound of the bird was the last thing I needed that morning,

it’s musical notes were like pens stabbing me in the eye,

reminding me that nature is the enemy,

added to that I was totally underwhelmed at the thought of confronting the person attached to the smells of breakfast,

knowing when I dragged myself downstairs a plate, a steaming cup and a sickly sweet smile would greet me,

today I wanted a bad tempered fool who I could argue with and yell at,

instead I would get pancakes, coffee and a how did you sleep dear?

….

taking the stairs one at a time, as if filled with arthritis and hardly able to walk, I prolonged the journey to the table,

the minute a small part of me, perhaps a wisp of hair, perhaps the smell of sleep, perhaps my muttering, rounded that corner it started,

well dear don’t you look well slept, did you hear the bluejay oh it is so lovely to have them in the garden, it’s almost morning tea time I nearly gave up on you for breakfast, sit, sit, do you want syrup on your pancakes, I know you like it cold so it’s in the fridge, I’ll just get it for you,

all of this rolled out of the sunshiny person in front of me with barely a breath being taken,

I ate, sweetness filling my body but my mind still fogged and furious,

now you know dear he didn’t mean it, I mean he just wanted to show his love, to get your attention, you can’t blame him,

my fork stopped mid-air, I just stared mouth open,

now dear he has known you for so long, you must forgive him his little quirks, he is so sweet and i wouldn’t be without him,

as I continued to stare it continued,

you can’t blame him, he’s only young, if things are left lying about then accidents will happen,

at this I stood, pushed back the chair and left,

I stood outside the door for some time,

remembering the chaos, seeing it unfold again in my mind,

months of work, irreplaceable ideas that had each taken months to explore and refine,

all rendered useless by a bottle of blue ink,

my little book, my perfect illustrations, all destroyed by the subject himself,

opening the door only added to the fury,

as I peered inside my legs wobbled,

there on the top of the ink stained pile of shredded paper was the corner of the envelope

my hands went to my head, and I started muttering, it should have been put in the mailbox this morning, this morning, this morning, 

then I felt hot breath on my leg,

I looked down and there next to me was Bob with his big black eyes and his stupid ball,

this was no longer a book about an abandoned pup who found a home,

it was about the owner of the naughtiest dog in town,

the front cover of the book was there in front of me in all of its glory … 

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Quote | This entry was posted in Animals, Australia, Birds, Daily Prompt, Dog, Inspiration, Life, Melbourne, smile, The things you write ..., Words, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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