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Monday, July 25, 2011

More Dog Story


I am two chapters ahead of you now and can already see things I'll need to change. But that's what rewrites are for.  PS--If you've lost the thread of the story, email me and I'll send you what I've got so far. If you're just now tuning in and want to catch up, you can email me too.

Or you can just email me and I'll . . . reply. You know . . . because I'm cool like that . . .

XX
Waiting
In the intervening days they waited and watched; slept, but never too deeply, ate, but never too much. No one raced the cat for the crumbs.  The Small Dog ran the borders with the Hound at his heels.  They made a game of it, barking, playing tag, with one eye on the hills.  And they all stood watch in the Boy’s room.

The Woman noticed the Old One’s absence from her bedside. Obviously thinking that his bed wasn’t comfortable enough, she added blankets to it and invited him to lay in it. To be polite he did, but when she drifted off to sleep, he rose and crept back across the house to the Boy’s side.

Their nerves were frayed, the waiting interminable.  There were arguments over prized sleeping places and toys that ended just before they were banished to kennels.

The Old One played fetch with the Boy to keep himself limber. He was slow, but the Boy was kind. The other dogs, when they played, let him win.

The Visitor followed the Boy into his dreams and reported that he was growing stronger, that he was finding clarity there and waking wiser every day.   

We rode in the back seat of a car. The Woman and the Man were in the front seat. And then they weren’t.  He had to drive the car himself, keep it from going where he didn’t want it to—off the top of a hill.  I was at his side and he did it.  In the end, there was a door, I told him it was bad and he did not open it.

And--
Last night a shadow chased us, but he could not run—kept falling down. I showed him how to chase it instead. It ran through the door like it wasn’t even there.  But the Boy did not open it and go after him because I told him he didn’t need to. It will not be back.

And--

We fell off a high place. I showed him how to fly. We flew together and he woke smiling. There was no door last night, but I could sense that it was not far away.

And then--

We fought a giant thing with many heads that he called a “principallewis” for a toy that belonged to the Boy. The boy was afraid, but he didn’t run away this time—instead he hit it until it cried and gave him back his toy. I don’t think I like principallewises and if I ever see one I will save the boy the trouble of fighting it and bite it myself.  He saw the door, but I was able to get him to come away.
And finally--

Last night, he tamed a storm on his own. I was not needed.
The next time he sees the door. He will open it and I won’t be able to stop him.

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