dogspeak

Life is a beautiful ride. One I cherish every day. The smells of fresh air, blossoming flowers, and newly cut grass- they all build within my nostrils as though they were small sailboats riding the breezes of my heartbeat. They sense my curiosities and float towards me. They need no reminder of the day or week or even if it is dinnertime, for they have but one mission; to fill me with joy. So much joy I run and run and run some more. I am a creation of vigorous speed. I will catch and pass you with little effort, then I will run a circle around you and continue to run. The sights and sounds blur in my wake as I create a tornado of feverish footprints. It is not to fear or confuse, it is only to excite. What is more important than excitement? It is full of life and passion and the sort of chemicals that cause the cackles on the back of my neck to stand on end. Excitement is the birth of energy and the extinguish of boredom.

Boredom is where I find myself most times. With life drifting by the locked window above the sofa, I sit alone. The shallow ripple of water slowly drawing to completion within my bowl, this will be the only activity worth seeing. Noises cackle and lights shine from the boxtop, but the language comes from another land, one I will never comprehend. Words like “fersail,” and “newbuybuynew,” mean little to me, but as I stare at the flashy lights, my head aches and my heart yearns for something with shape and life and, most of all, smell. It is an eternity of this. With each exit of my beloved, I am convinced there will be no return. The bristles of my bed, wedged between the sofa and the banister, feel like the pricks of a million pins stabbing me to death, disallowing me to sleep through the monotony in which I am buried beneath. Oh how I would love to find sleep. With sleep comes dreams, and with dreams comes running and more running and such speeds I lift off and run through the air. I pass the trees, then the birds, then the clouds in my dreams. Such great dreams bring me excitement as well. Instead, I lap up some more water and stare into the bowl. Ripple… ripple…

-click- what is that?! Someone is turning the door handle? I hear it? I smell the lunchpail and sweat and sawdust and oh the glorious smell of humanity. I feel my heart drawing in and pushing out with renewed vigor! I can only let out a howl of excitement and run and run circles then run some more. Companionship causes me to collapse.

When the leash and the tennis shoes and the little plastic baggie all come out, my heart extends all the way to the tip of my tongue. Who knew this would ever occur again? I was trapped within the doldrums of never-run and now I am among the grass and the dirt and the delicious smells of discovery. They rush through my nostrils and strengthen my heart. I feel them sailing all the way to my toes and then popping out onto the cement with every stride. I run and leap and sniff and dance and, all the while, I exist.

…and then, something new. We stop. His breath is shorter and undoubtedly full of invigorating smells as well. He sits. I sit. We sit together and breathe. Two units connected by each breath, passing along the delicious smells. I inhale, taking in a lifetime of delicious sailboats, they pass through my heart, strengthening it, and then I exhale, passing the smells along to him, so his heart will also be strengthened. I am so excited to share such smells. His socks are the most powerful. The stripes and wrinkles and stains all fill my nose with life and with him. It is all I smell for a moment. I focus on the socks and their vivid, powerful odors. If only their colors matched their odors, we would be ablaze with technicolor light. I am so happy.

Uh oh… again… I smell them; the headphones. The lull of the headphones as he plays the Sketches of Spain tape against my head is not a good sign. I know the sound of a trumpet and it is absent of smell. I accept these musical notes as they are simply another way to share a sensory stimuli with another, but why would we sit here and be lulled to sleep, when we could be amongst the butterflies and bicyclists? Running and chasing and smelling will leave our hearts with more beating than sitting and dozing and listening. A trumpet is a creation with little to no smell. It sounds of life, with bellows similar to my own beating heart, but it has no smell, and all living things have smell. I can only listen to this lifeless sound and hope that his heart is pushed towards the lake.

Luckily, he shares little, and enjoys the sounds himself. My heart has slowed, which commonly occurs after a bit of Sketches of Spain, and I sit, drowsy. I peak up at him, past his socks and his tennis shorts and into his eyes. They are closed. The smell of his cigarette leaps from his fingers and his lips down through my nostrils, but it does not excite my heart the way the fresh grass does. Instead, it makes my eyes heavy. The music, the smoke, the setting sun all climb upon my back and force me to lie down and then, with one last smell of the socks, I am asleep.

Swooooosh! Awwwoooooooo! The sun shines again, and I am up in the sky running towards it. The birds cannot outrace me, they only laugh as I run circles around them, through the air, and then we smell each other’s rear ends and our hearts beat faster. The sun laughs with me. It giggles as the temperature warms my body. I decide, today, I will even run circles around the sun.

Thanks to Lisa for sending the photo. It is a fun project to create a story around a photo... you should try it.