The dog with the bell

Today while I was in our car, my thoughts, without any whim or fancy flew to the days I used to know a guy and his dog with the bell. The dog's name was Bobby and it had a bell on its neck. As the dog walked, the bell chimed and it was like a signal - Bobby and X have arrived! Ah! that there was a special connection between the dog's owner and the writer is immaterial here. Aw! Did I just say that! Ah! well, I just did. I would be having dinner, when the rhythmic sound of Bobby's bell would announce their arrival. I would then squirm, try and hurry my dinner, and jump into the road to join the walkers. Our post-dinner rendezvous punctuated by Bobby's bell. Bobby was a smart dog - he knew the places of affection and love and was a silent spectator to the laughs and undercurrents.

He would walk, sometimes run after spotting a nocturnal creature or find his favourite tree and pee. I knew he looked forward to those walks like us. He was the excuse for our walks and we were the reason for his walks - it was a mutual understanding.

I wonder where Bobby is. I suspect he has passed away and would have found many similar companions to walk with while tinkling his wee bell. I also wonder what happened to that bell. Perhaps it was buried with Bobby or it was just discarded now that there is no much use for the same. As for the owner of Bobby, I guess he is out there doing his own thing and probably owning another paw to take care but I guess he won't need the bell because he is now married with children and he does not have the need to alert someone of his presence. Maybe he might be wearing that bell as a talisman or as a signal to alert his family of his arrival from work, gym, church or just the corner shop.

Memories, very funny, aren't they?

Hope you are revelling in the season of fun and joy.

What are your childhood memories of Christmas?

  

Whose space is it anyway?

I switch on the light. They respond as if they are ‘caught in the act.’  I wait for them to leave. They wait for me to leave. They are motionless. I don’t see them looking at me but I know that they can sense my presence.

This is MY house, I think but they don’t care. They never cared. Why should they care? They are not like me living in A particular space with marked boundaries. They live wherever they can find an environment that is conducive for food and reproduction. After all, unlike me they don’t need different rooms, utensils, clothes and other stuff. All that they need is filth, wetness and leftover food left carelessly by me in nondescript places.

I am not scared of them. I never was. But the feeling of them on me is quite icky and unpleasant. I would never want them on me even for a second. Of course, I revere my body as I do my space. Whenever I spot them on and off ‘the act,’ I imagine them climbing on my limbs. I cringe. I imagine a bit too much. I have dwelled on this thought of imagining something and actually feeling something. Sometimes, both are the same. Sometimes, the actual is never experienced, so certain things exist only in the imagination. The invaders’ tale is also similar. Whenever I spot the invaders of ‘my space,’ my mind is on a high-alert imagination mode. I stand there transfixed imagining and looking – looking and imagining. The invaders mirror my action. They remain there motionless. I have half a mind to spray that pesticide which is lying unused (I think that pesticides are unhealthy for the air which circulates inside the house thus putting the family in danger!). Then? Do I kill them and feel queasy about the white blood that gushes out? I do neither. I will and cannot bring an uneasiness to my sight and smell. I leave the spot and allow the invaders to continue their (k)nightly rendezvous.

The next day, I google, “Natural and chemical-free way to get rid of roaches.” As always, Google gives me the answers but I’m yet to try them on the invaders of my house and space. In the meanwhile, I thought I would write a post and in the corner of my eye, I can spot a stealthy movement. I know that I’m being watched.

Cockroach problem, dear readers?      

Image 1: Internet
Image 2: Internet