Paint Me a Tuesday

Paint Me A Tuesday The sky is innocently blue and to think that it has been raining for days…dogs are coming out of their shelter, yawning, scratching looking for scraps of food. In our village they are not pampered pets and bitches are always pregnant, but useful they are when hunters come and need them for scaring rabbits out into the open. A dog, with a lame hind leg, pushed out by the pack and of no use to hunters, it’s slowly starving to taut skin over hips and ribs, looks into my window, I draw the curtains. It isn’t not for me to feed this ugly being, I’ll only prolong its agony. Open the curtains, it’s still there begging silently, sad brown eyes it has just like my brother’s. Five solid slices day fresh of bread with thick layers of butter on I give it; wolfed down in five seconds. Full for once it lies down in the lane sleeps in the sun, this contented dog, barks too when it dreams of chasing rabbits. The dog didn’t hear the tractor before it was too late and with its lame hind leg it never got away, blood and dog fur on big tyres, a cursing driver. Ten minutes of happiness the dog had in an otherwise brutal and luckless life. Five slices of day fresh loaf with butter on, my friend, what more do want? Written January 8th, 2002 © on Jan 07 2002 08:19 PM PST   0 • 13