The life of a dog
His ears perked up, and his nose went wild as he breathed in all the scents around him. He was sure he heard something. He lifted up his head and looked over the patch of the garden that was his domain. He could smell fresh earth, growing plants, cantaloupe and honey dew. His eyes caught a glimpse of movement as a butterfly fluttered from an old flower that was forming a new fruit.
“Yes, it must have been the flutter of wings,” he thought and lowered his head to his paws with a snort. The dust around his nose flew up making him sneeze. This was his life. He wouldn’t say that it was bad, just… uneventful. No one came to visit. There was time when a young girl would come by to inspect the fruit. She always had a kind word for him and a treat. Now he was lucky that the old man brought food regularly. There were no kind words, just a bowl set down. Even harvesting was not a joyous time. Just a solemn occasion that was done because of some sad compulsion that he didn’t really understand.
No one came to steal the fruit from the garden. When he was younger, he had exuberantly chased the rabbits that were trying to get in the garden. He had thought it was a game, but the rabbits thought otherwise. They knew not to come any more.
None of the fruit tried to run away. He had heard stories long ago of other dogs that got to chase cows or sheep. Their lives sounded so exciting, and they sounded powerful. Imagine being in charge of hundreds of animals and herding them all over the plains and fields. He could see himself confronting wolves and poachers and saving his charges from other wild animals.
That wasn’t his lot in life, however. Instead, he was confined to this garden where there were watermelon, cantaloupes and honey dew. Day in and day out, he guarded this place where nothing ever happened anymore. His life had beauty, but it also had boredom. Still, at least the meals were regular, and he had a place to sleep. Such was the life of a Melon Collie.
“Yes, it must have been the flutter of wings,” he thought and lowered his head to his paws with a snort. The dust around his nose flew up making him sneeze. This was his life. He wouldn’t say that it was bad, just… uneventful. No one came to visit. There was time when a young girl would come by to inspect the fruit. She always had a kind word for him and a treat. Now he was lucky that the old man brought food regularly. There were no kind words, just a bowl set down. Even harvesting was not a joyous time. Just a solemn occasion that was done because of some sad compulsion that he didn’t really understand.
No one came to steal the fruit from the garden. When he was younger, he had exuberantly chased the rabbits that were trying to get in the garden. He had thought it was a game, but the rabbits thought otherwise. They knew not to come any more.
None of the fruit tried to run away. He had heard stories long ago of other dogs that got to chase cows or sheep. Their lives sounded so exciting, and they sounded powerful. Imagine being in charge of hundreds of animals and herding them all over the plains and fields. He could see himself confronting wolves and poachers and saving his charges from other wild animals.
That wasn’t his lot in life, however. Instead, he was confined to this garden where there were watermelon, cantaloupes and honey dew. Day in and day out, he guarded this place where nothing ever happened anymore. His life had beauty, but it also had boredom. Still, at least the meals were regular, and he had a place to sleep. Such was the life of a Melon Collie.