But I have no idea where the plot is going to.
I hope to an answer to the unsolved issue behind the theme.
“Mom! Mom!” Oh, I was sleeping so snug, having the best dream ever... I slowly open my eyes and turn them towards the staircase that ends up in my attic. It's almost twelve o'clock in the morning, or should I say afternoon? I've been sleeping the day away. Lucky for me, I hate having a whole day in front of me, having to fill it up with senseless, repetitive, chores that lead nowhere. But I pity my child, who is on the brink of his adult life, having only a few more years of childhood left. No, I forbid myself to enter that line of thought. I know where it ends up. At the bottom of a cesspit.
“What is it now?” I ask, a lot less friendly then I should. This time my boy is not taken aback by the tone. His eyes are shining, his face is happy. “Mom, there's a puppy lying on our doorstep.” And now for the inevitable 'Can we keep him?' ... “May I take him in and feed him?”
Surprised at this modest step, I say yes. This does mean however that I have to get out of bed. Well, that's better for me anyway. If my life really is that boring, it needs change. And change doesn't come to me when I lie in bed all day.
The puppy is a young, happy and extremely vivid German shepherd. Now how did this animal end up on my doorstep, I wonder. I hope the owner will be found soon, for I already have 10 pets. OK, my son's 2 goldfish hardly require any work, but they are living creatures, right?
“I wonder how he got here?” my son echoes my thought. He has given the dog some salami and cat food and is now feeding him some of the cats favourite cookies. The cat itself sits in the window sill, hissing and growling at the guest. The former street tiger not just detests dogs, he hates their guts out, wishes to tear them open, see them suffer, hear them blow out their last breath, he … You might state he is not fond of Canis lupus familiaris.
The dog is not a stray. He looks healthy and he wears a brand new collar. Wait a minute... I see a metal tube dangling on it. This must contain the name of the owner. I point it out and my son's face loses several degrees of happiness.
“Oh come on, Guts” My son's name is Augustus. Most people call him Gus, but I call him Guts. Because he has them, if necessary. “You wouldn't like it if other people kept your cat, if he ran away, would you?”
No, he wouldn't. A little tense he lets me open the tube and take out the slip of paper. Someone has magic fingers. It's a long strand, rolled up tightly. It hardly fitted into the hole.
Dear JoAnne, I'm on a journey with unknown destination. Hope you can take care of my Jud while I'm away. He's Loba's son. Heard you lost track a bit. Maybe Jud will be a good guide dog for you.
Love and good luck, Justus.To be continued !!!!
My heart skips a beat. Or two. No, more. I thought I'd never hear from him again. I have been back to the forest to look for his cabin, but coudn't find it. Finally I resigned myself to the idea that our meeting was a beautiful dream, no more. Sure, there was my carved plank to prove I had really met the woodcarver, but the idea of ever meeting him again was no more than a dream.
But now one of Justus' dogs was looking me in the eyes. He had brought him here, would he pick him up again, so I could see Justus once more? I wrap my arms around the dogs neck and welcome him in.