Tales of Ella the Circus Dog
2006-03-01 10:29 PM
In My Wildest Dreams.
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In my wildest dreams, I run a house full of dogs. They’re all worn out and crippled. They walk funny and they smell. They are used to snapping without good reason, except that I know what it’s like to be on the street and cornered, and I know that you do whatever it takes to survive. I did. The dogs in my house are blind and deaf and tired and shake when someone comes through the door. They have seeping wounds and have never heard kind words or slept in front of the fire. They pant. They wet where they sleep. They jump at the slightest sound. They gobble their food as though it’s been days, and you better look out if you walk by their food dish. Their teeth rot in their head, and the poison makes them seem crazy. They pace and walk the house at night and never rest. I go from dog to dog to dog to hear their stories. Some break my heart. Some make me want to bite a leg. Some leave me without breath.
After a while, the dogs in my house settle down. They lick their wounds, then the wounds of the dog sleeping next to them. They chew their food. They take in buckets of water. They pee in the grass. They melt down in the sun. They forget some of their stories. They watch a bird or a butterfly, and they prick their ears. They run across the yard and then do it again and then look for a reason to do it again. They bark. They go up to the People and stand beside them like I do. They wait for the touch, for the word, for the sounds that let them know they belong here now. They are safe. They will be made comfortable. They can sleep without fear. In my wildest dreams. In my house full of dogs.
Cat, by the way, hates the idea.
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