by underswansea


My old dog made a come back today, caught me unexpected. It was the black one. She always knew when the bears were close or when I was ready to wake. She was beside the bed panting bad breath into my face. Expecting a hike.

She’s like me. There is so much we don’t get. That’s what getting old does. We both live in the past and can’t bear the future. She deals with it by being disagreeable. Barking the politicians and the religious off the step, before they can rap their knuckles on my door. That’s a debt I can never repay.

For her and I, we are staying the course, blind, without compass or coordinates, chewing our grub and enjoying it while we still can, like there’s any other choice.