Did you know 2018 was the year of the dog? I did, I have always envied dogs. The simplicity of their lives, no issue that isn’t solved by a walk, a snooze or the biting of something or someone. Oh to be a hound.
We humans, on the other hand have no such luck, even a working dog is far from a human dogged by work. Alas, we Homo Sapiens are doomed to work, our only respite coming in the form of a humble day of rest, two if you’re lucky. If only it was true.
There is a common misconception that doing nothing is easy, it isn’t, the world is against you. The universe despises the lazy and will throw everything in its disposal to make sure the honestly idle do something productive.
Take this morning; I awoke happily with every intention of doing sweet nothing. I inspired to take my listless self to buy a newspaper, cook and then eat breakfast. Then with nothing close to a plan, intention or strategy, amble into town. Weather dependent, I would take a leisurely stroll down the river, and if I were to come across a public house, well, I would indulge in an afternoon tipple or two, whilst pondering the many virtues of a life less worked.
But the gods are cruel and offer only vindictive options with often dubious intentions. Why? Well because as I awoke this morning, the day offering blissfully little, the phone hollered at my bedside, and I knew within moments of hearing that polyphonic shriek that life was about to hit back. Or more specifically the hardworking other half had other plans for my day and none of it involved the pursuit of leisure.
Her opener was simple, ‘what have you got planned today?’ Innocent enough you might say, but I knew better. It sounded like a pleasant absent-minded question, a quaint opener, the start of friendly chitchat, it wasn’t. I’d been in this situation before, I’d been younger and less worldly, but I had remembered. It was a keenly used manipulation technique; passed from mother to daughter, probably all the way back to the trials. It is one of many blades of subtle interrogation in the arsenal of my beloved.
Taking the dock
So there I was taking the dock, an old bailey of my own construction. My right hand on the bible, my throat dry, my lip trebling. I let out a noise unbecoming of any creature of any ambivalence. I tried to think of something, anything I could be doing, any small task that could make my day sound less utterly feckless. And then, as my brain slowly began digging the tunnel that would lead to my escape, the frames cracked and the earth fell in. ‘Oh nothing much.’ I said, unable to control myself. Perhaps the previous noise had been a precursor to my singing like canary. My brain tried to act, but it was too late, I was unable to stop the collapse.
Like a general facing an imminent loss, I gathered my hopes for what could have been, loaded a revolver and killed them. And that was that. I simply moved on, the memories of what could have been no more than a murmur on a passing breeze. I barely heard the list of things to be done, the jobs to be finished, the tasks to be completed, I simply accepted my fate, well aware I’d have to ring back to be retold and then scolded for my incompetence. It truly is a dog’s life, pfft I would be so lucky.
There seems to be many a saying in regards to dogs; It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog and every dog has his day to name only a couple, well being keen on pooches and proverbs I would like to add one more canis lupus familiaris to the pack menagerie; A sleeping dog always gets kicked.
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