YEARN
Unsafe Spaces #37: This one's about being oblivious. Told from a surprising perspective. You can do better.
I carry the leash through to my master who’s staring at the glowing oblong in his hand. He’s always looking at that thing. Sometimes he smiles but mostly he frowns. As I approach, I rub my forehead against his leg—a trick I use to get his attention—then follow it up with a short whine.
He looks down at me after a few rounds of this.
“In a minute girl,” he says then his eyes flick back to his captivating toy. I wonder what he sees there. The taste of the leather is stale in my mouth. I can feel froth forming and the lead goes squishy in my drool.
I like to think I have a good sense of time keeping. My body clock tells me when it’s food or walkies time. Right now, it’s walkies time and he’s still not moving.
I’ll wait another minute, then I might have to make a scene: drop the leash, jump on the sofa, maybe even a bark. He hates it when I do that.
Come on, I think when he fails to get up. He doesn’t know it but he’s on a countdown now. When it runs out, I’m gonna bark and he’s gonna get mad even though it’s his fault.
Still nothing so I give him one last head nudge and whine.
“I said in a minute!” he snaps and, while I don’t understand what any of his words mean, I recognise the tone which is telling me that I have to wait longer for my walkies.
I bow my head in shock, feeling the shame burn. I have overstepped. He is my master after all. Cowed, I curl up around his feet suddenly drained of energy. He’ll take me when he’s ready. Yes. I can wait. He does know best.
There’s a gulf in time as I lie there. I count my heartbeats then I count my breaths in and out. Eons pass. The sky outside darkens. From my vantage point on the floor, I look back up at him. The harsh glare from his rectangle even brighter now the room is darker.
In the wake of this silence, it’s obvious I have to make amends so gently run the top of my head against his leg. The fabric of his jeans is rough but as I lean into it my fur warms up as he reaches down with his other hand to give me a pat. I know what’s coming next and make a small yelp in anticipation as his finger and thumb slide under my ears to give me a rub. It’s not walkies but it’s the next best thing. My eyes glaze over and all thoughts leave my world when he does that.
The sun flashes in my eyes as it reflects off a half-opened window. It’s getting low in the sky. My walkies are well past due. It’s involuntary but the whine, when it comes, is loud.
“Come on now,” he says. “Give me five more minutes.”
“No!” I say which is, of course, my first bark. He jolts in surprise in his seat and I let the lead fall to the floor with a clatter. Before he can say anything further, I follow it up with another bark. “Now!”
“Okay, okay girl,” he says finally. The second bark had told him I was serious. Reminded him that he was in the wrong. He stuffs his black rectangle into his pocket and shuffles himself off the sofa and onto his feet. He reaches down to pick the lead up and makes a grimace when his hands touch the wet bit. It’s around here I get unapologetically excited. I love walkies! I skitter around the polished wood floor, my nails scritching the varnish.
“Calm down!” he cries, exasperated as I weave between his legs until he finally manages to grab a handful of my ruff and hook the metal onto my collar. “Alright, let’s go.”
I’m always amazed when he opens the big door. On the other side is another hallway with rows of other doors that seem to lead to somewhere else. We never open any of those, instead we go to the big shiny silver one that reveals a small cubicle. It gives me the sensation of falling when we go inside. This is where I get the most impatient and often get told off. I recognise I have a problem—I’m working on it—and try to calm myself down but it always comes out as whines. It’s because I know we’re nearly outside, nearly where I get to run about. It’s been too long. I’ve almost forgotten what another dog’s nose feels like.
Finally, we’re outside and I’m conscious that I want to get my business over with as quickly as possible. Not that I get embarrassed about it but it’s never great to meet new friends when you’re squatting. In the square outside is a small patch of grass and I pull on my leash to lead him over to it. I figure it’s best to go here before we move onto the bigger park at the end of the street. My eyes dart from side to side to check for anyone but we’re in the clear.
“Oh, here?” he says and rustles in his pocket for one of his bags.
I hurry through it as I’m so eager to get to the park. To stretch my legs and bolt around freely. Stuff I can never do inside without getting shouted at.
Done, I stand back up and he swoops over to pick it up. My limbs shake like its cold—which it isn’t. It’s just excitement. Unfocussed energy runs through me as if the hairs on my legs have charged me in static. If I’m lucky, he might take off my lead and let me walk alongside him till we get to the park.
“That was quick, girl.”
I look at him, feel my tongue hang from my mouth. Pent up energy tempts me to pull on my lead, but I manage to suppress the urge. Being a naughty girl won’t do me any good. No, it’s best to endure.
On the late afternoon air, I catch the scent of cut grass, then of mud, of puddles of rainwater. Above it all, barks from those I recognise and those I don’t, paws racing across the soft ground, whistles from other masters. It’s all too much. My legs do a funny circular dance as I wait for him to tie up the bag.
“Come on then.”
To my horror, he turns back to where we came from. Back home.
I yelp loudly to object; to tell him my heart yearns for the park. He knows this. He must.
“You just love being indoors don’t ya, girl?”
I still don’t understand his words, but the tone is counter to how I feel. Then it’s he who pulls on the lead, yanking me back towards our front door. I stand firm to halt our progress but in his other hand he’s pulled out the light-up oblong and is no longer interested in me. Soon I’m dragged across the pavement and back indoors, back inside for another eternity.
Listlessly I pad around indoors, moving from room to room until I finally settle down in the bedroom. A faint breeze from the half-opened window rustles my fur. The evening air haunts me with the scents of cut grass, mud, puddles, and the barks from my friends.
He’ll take me tomorrow. I’m sure of it.
Image by FLOUFFY via Unsplash. https://unsplash.com/@theflouffy