Skip to main content

On a day like this.

Fidel swallowed a yarn of thread today. I found a piece of string hanging from the side of his mouth and I pulled at it. The more i pulled, the more came out. I panicked, and gave it a good yank and out comes the yarn. Little doggie then vomitted, and I found myself poking through his vomit to see if maybe there was some blood in it. I panicked some more at the thought of me having cut his throat or some other part of his precious body with the yank.

I just got home to find him napping after dinner. My mother tells me he pooped out thread as well. So i scooped him up while he was napping and put him on my lap, that he crawled into and continued sleeping on. I cried a little, because while two weeks is a short time to fall in love with something, I know I have already falled in love with this crazy obsession called Fidel.

Two short weeks, and a lifetime in between and with all the lingual differences, I hope he knows that too. Precious doggie boy.
Labels:

Comments

dD.Diyana said…
do you have a photo of the doggie? i might get a doggie for christmas so i will name it after your doggie.

hugs.

he must've been a good doggie.
October 01, 2008 11:43 pm
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Celebrations

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 16 ; the sixteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . It was a hard ground that felt like sand paper. When he started his journey, it was the soles of his feet that were in contact with the ground, but now as he pulled himself closer to the station, it was his whole body. His elbows were scraped, bloody and fresh scab peeled bled out to leave a trail of red on the wicked hot dusty ground of pain and suffering. All around him slow moving bodies crawled towards the direction of hope, all along leaving patterns of blood, sweat, skin and pus. These bodies had seen civil wars, droughts, genocide and lived to tell a tale of a people who now belonged to a nation listed as one of the poorest countries in the world. This is now, but before the list, was a struggle of massive proportions, under reported and quietly hidden
26 comments
Read more

Escape

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 10 ; the tenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . The Temple Widow A narrow dirt path, generously peppered with tiny pebbles, tiny miniatures of their gargantuan ancestors, leads to a bridge. It hangs, rickety and old. Old but not well used, old like abandoned and not frequently used. The bridge hangs low over a small stream that slowly gurgles past, happy unlike those that visit the place. The bridge leads to a temple. It is not very big, only perhaps the size of a small hut and at the most the size of an average temple hall. The temple has no deity; the temple has no one corner that doesn’t look like the other. It is clean, well swept, and empty. It has no furniture, and excepting a series of well spaced out windows, the walls remains uninterrupted. She stumbles in, the lady. She is not very tal
30 comments
Read more

Time Travel

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 8 ; the eighth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton . I haven't got the memory of a vedic tantric. Neither do I ever claim to remember all. All I know is what I know, question my memory if you want to. I don't ask you to remember, I don't ask you to believe. In fact, I'm not asking you for anything at all. It is your choice to be here, to read this. So no, I don't owe you a favor. I happened to chance upon a watch, on one of my travels. Turning the dials of such a watch, could transport you to the past, to the future, to any time. But time, my friend, is not how you think it is. It is not a straight line, and you cannot just by chance hop into the world of dinosaurs and wooden weapons. It is a series of transparencies, like films of clean sheets of paper laid on top of each other. You look from above
31 comments
Read more