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Thursday, August 4, 2011

a story for another day

I would like to paint a scene for this, half of me does the other just wants to jump to the end engage in a little premature litejaculation. But control gives so many more gifts than impulse.

It was a dark night. The good kind of dark, more liberating than menacing. The kind of night that holds more promise for lovers stealing an embrace than robbers stealing a life. The night sounds had quieted down all around us as we walked to my friend's place, let's call him dude. It was the end of a happy night, a night where nothing bad had happened, no robberies, no drama, nothing but fun and people to have fun with. A night where nothing bad happens is a good night for me, recently disaster has been a dog that darkens my doorstep, constantly prowling perilously close to all I hold precious ready to pounce and parry and carry away what it gains.

Whenever it's past time for me to go home and I am in the company of the dude it makes much more sense for me to crash at his place, its right near the road which means there are no late night walks of the type I have come to dread, not for the fear of robbers as much as for the fear of getting tired. When you have had a night out and are at that point when the club has lost its glamour and your bones the stamina you once had the last thing you need is a walk of a kilometre or near as much that it doesn’t matter before you get home, so I crash at dude's place.

Now he has some dogs. I know that all dogs are bitches and sons of bitches anyway but the kind of dogs am talking about are not lady's handbags parading as pets but real dogs. The kind of animals you would want if a thief came a-calling, the type of animals that would as soon bark as bite you, the kind of dogs that need the calming presence of their master nearby just so they don't take away some of your flesh. That presence has to be firm,it must be commanding, decisive and sure. Those are the kinds of dogs he has. They have to scent you, they have to get the smell of you in their nostrils or else they'll be wanting the flesh of you in their mouths.

Over the years I have let these dogs get a good whiff of me, inhale my aroma, I let them smell me so that they won't get angsty and angry when I visit, I let them come closer to me than I feel comfortable with because animals can smell fear. I have always had a problem with this saying. Human emotions are expressed with more than just feelings in the pit of your stomach, they are expressed in adrenaline and endorphines, hormones and fluids that are secreted through pores in our skin and vapour in our breath. And these things, these fluids are the only kind of fear that an animal can smell, if I stand still does it reduce the amount of adrenaline that my body pumps into my blood? If I look a dog in the eye does that confuse its sense of smell so it can't scent the fear oozing out of my skin? I don't think so. But just because something doesn’t make sense doesn't mean its not true.

And so little by little I let these dogs get my scent, I let them get to know me. I didn't do them any great kindness, I didn't muzzle them or give them any special treats(like I wrote all dogs are bitches and sons of bitches), I just let them get close enough for a sniff a quick sniff before they let me in. and it worked, of course it worked. Soon they didn't get too excited at my approach. They would let me pass without as many barks as there are in a forest. But one of them a playful hound would come close and smell me every time. I didn’t like it but I thought all it was doing was playing. Sometimes it would put its jaws around my calf but it never pulled the trigger so I was OK.

In the world of dogs a duo of eclectic singers by the name Snarls Barkely once sang a song called I think am rabid.

Just last week, as I entered dude's house, the night air quiet all around me, the sounds faded to nothing but the laughter of two friends at the end of a well-earned night out, the dogs came bounding to the front door as we let ourselves in to the house quiet as burglars. And the playful hound came to me and put its jaws around my calf muscle. Animals can smell fear that though ran through my mind as I made myself stand stock still with a jaw wrapped around my leg. It will just leave me alone was another thought I had. But this time it pulled the trigger,

“dude your dog just bit me.”

I said this calm as can be, calm as the sea when inside me emotions raged back and forth tidal waves of anger and fear and pain striking the shore of my placid exterior threatening to burst if I didn’t move. But still I stood.

“dude your dog just bit me again.”

I said that second sentence because it had. Now I had two dog bites in me, maybe it wasn't two but my flesh was punctured and a dribble of blood was flowing down my leg. I looked at my trouser the next day and it was torn right through, the smallest bullet hole you ever did see. But we had been drinking and that interferes with thinking so I went right to sleep. I had to shut out the pain wilfully to get to sleep that night. It took me all of 7 minutes 'fore I slumbered which is a really long time fo me to get to sleep.

I looked at the wound when I woke up and it was a puncture hole the size of a fang, beside it were scratches where the rest of the too many teeth that canines have had grazed me. When I put pressure on my right leg I feel like limping. I don't know anyone else who has been bitten by a dog, I didn't even think this kind of thing happened anymore. But i'm glad July is behind me, too many kharmic lightning strikes in that month, now we're in august and they have to cease, huh.


  1. what happened to all dogs are bitches or sons of bitches- it is it renamed?

  2. nah, that was never the name, just a description.

  3. I like the way somehow, when a person is at their most excruciating moment, they can express themselves calmly, almost like they're outside the moment itself. I suppose it's some kind of mental protection device. Or something.