I Don’t Like the Dog Next Door!

 

I don’t like the dog next door.

It’s small, pug-like and white. I am crouching looking into the crystal clear waters of my pond when it notices me and barks. It jumps over the wall and it’s by my side, and then on the other side, and I ignore it.

I’m looking for fish, and I can’t see any.

Then I see one. It is floating with white eyes on the surface of the pond, but far too far out for me to reach to scoop out. It floats in such a manner to tell me that it is indeed dead; not like one a couple of days earlier that floated in a similar way yet still flapped a fin as if to suggest there was still a breath of life within.

I was fooled.

And later discovered  that it was the wind using one of its small fins as a sail; as if my small pond was one of the seven seas across which it was  intent upon journeying on its voyage of the afterlife.

I stare at the pond for an age.

The food, too much, from yesterday still floats like green flat icebergs.

I can’t see any fish.

The lily is beginning to spout new leaves, they are bunched tight and yellow but there is no sign of life. No frogs with forking legs.

The dog bored, wanders off, and I’m not interested in it.

Then I see one lone fish swimming across the pond. It looks in good shape. It’s tiny, and I’m cheered, and I think that maybe I will get dressed this day after all.

For I have been crouching by the pond in my Christmas pyjamas with my gardening jacket over the lot, and my hair as yet uncombed.

And then I stand up, and as it’s there’s been some bizarre mockery. there is something. Something bright red lying on the grass, almost like a remembrance of a large orange goldfish.

It’s a draft excluder in the shape of a snake.

It’s mine.

I pick it up. It’s already wet, and I take it back inside the house.

Shutting out the dog.

The dog has been inside as far as the living room. Its muddy footprints stain the carpet.

I replace the draft excluder behind the door.

I really don’t like the dog next door!