Sunday, 4 February 2007

An Illusion of Heaven.

A building with steps...a tunnel full of people...a pathway with water beneath...busy, so busy...all these strange faces...and strange dogs...sniffing...people pawing at me....darkness, I'm hidden...going upwards...muffled noises...going downwards...air again...another building...pieces of paper and round metal things being handed over...another tunnel...curling up warm, my nose peeking out....strange sounds from something long and shiny...more people, throwing the round things which always miss...a familiar face, the woman from the van, the woman who brought me here and handed me over.

I'm not sure how I feel now...Do I want to go back? The woman's face is impassive. Soft, but not really caring. The face with eyes is different. Filled with something else I can't quite place. I look from one to the other and curl up tight. I'll stay here. With Eyes.

Times passes and we pack up and cross the busy places again. A big red van but with extra windows pulls up. We get on, metal and paper change hands. We sit, Eyes and the man together, the big yellow dog below us. I am wrapped tight still. As I look out, the landscape changes, urban grey to blissful green. The Eyes are smiling. This place feels good.

A bowl of food, dry but appetising. High but safe. A good long drink. Running about on the grass, the big yellow dog sniffs and then we play. Leaping and fighting, gently, gently. A noise rises in my throat, but I don't know how to let it out, so all that emerges is a squeak. Wagging tales, pup and plaything. A black and white bitch appears and sniffs, then looks on. Other people vaguely in the background, faded images in my memory now, not important.

Dusky skies. The Eyes scoop me up and we go upstairs. A bed, high and soft. Eyes and the man in the bed, me alongside them. Yellow Dog and newspaper on the floor. Darkness.

Need to go. I know I have to get to the newspaper so I slide off the bed, down a pink counterpane. Pad slowly and quietly past Yellow Dog, I hate being watched when I go. Then time to return, but the bed is high. Paws scrabbling, little squeaks emerging. Man stirs. He nudges Eyes. "Look, he went on the newspaper and got up again all by himself." Eyes is happy. I am happy. We sleep.

The pattern begins. Get up, eat, in a car to the busy place, curl up with Eyes whilst the long shiny thing makes a noise and people throw things. Sometimes they stop and talk, sometimes they give me things, good things to eat. I like that. Then back on the red van - the bus - and play until dusk. Curl up with Eyes to sleep. Life is good. If this is what life will be, I'll be a happy dog. If.....