‘Well hello - who do we have here? Fromoth and Ocker Oscar hiding in the back shed. Are we going over the usual how are we going to cheer Oscar up today?’ Escere says slowly, ‘Well folks - we don't. Oscar has to sort out his own problems but we can offer help to solve our combined problems.’
I stare at Escere as she struts around me in a giant circle...
‘Escere, why bother even coming into the shed? Why bother speaking about combined problems when as a cat - I quote you - cats do not need humans - what is your gripe Escere?’
‘Oscar, as I said to you there is a solution but I tried and it failed but it doesn’t mean it will fail if you use that power you used yesterday. What I know is that you have to use that same 'whatever' to rid us of a certain energy. It is written in the stars Oscar. A big change is happening after the longest human time period the Galactic Year is coming to an end and certain energies need to be destroyed on earth.’
‘What are you talking about Escere. You are a stupid cat so how would you know this?’
‘Oscar, I notice you do not ask about Galactic years or anything of the spirit world. Trust Oscar, and listen to my plans.’
‘All right then. Convince me.’
‘Oscar, the person who loves you the most is also your problem in this house. She lived 'free as' when she was growing up but made many mistakes. Now she has dedicated herself to stopping her children making the same mistakes. She uses witchcraft to do it. All you have to do is destroy the very things she consults to get her answers and lists of instructions.’
‘I concur Oscar, it is bad energy Betty uses to control and manipulate. The energy is your enemy Oscar, not Betty herself. However, there is a misguided agenda if you go to destroy her property. Perhaps you can use energy to redirect its powers to elsewhere on the planet.’ Fromoth said.
‘I am going now Oscar and will let you know when I can get you inside the house. It will be up to you to do whatever is necessary the moment you get back inside the house and into Betty's bedroom.’ Escere said as she slid around the corner.
‘Your motives are pure Oscar. You have to perfect the Galactic Flatulation as soon as you can Oscar. The secret is in the motive. The Five Senses in a melodic resonance,’ Calliope said.
Not this again - I am such a poor me who.... oh no - shot in the head with a mini Galactic fart again – a thousand violins and a symphony orchestra flow through my ears - all right - all right - all right - stop it - I will never say that again.
‘Or think it Oscar - you are not alone,’ Calliope said.
Now I am to perfect the Galactic Fart. Now how would I do that? Last time the local newspaper got paid millions of dollars for the news coverage of the first Air-Quake in history and I could destroy the Sydney Opera House from a distance of one thousand kilometres away if I tried hard. Oh, that is a clue. I am not to try. I am to focus on the five senses: eyes, touch, ears, taste, and smell all in resonance. Ok. If I close my eyes, do not touch anything, keep my mouth shut, close down my smelling, shut out any noises, and focus on their intensity... or their similarities they give the body. The smell of burnt crispy bacon, the touch and taste as it crumbles in my mouth, what I can hear as it crunches and the smell and sight of it before I put it into my mouth --- and then combine the senses together. This is nice - a sort of - standing in Melbourne and enjoying the four seasons - all day. Violins and bass guitars and a saxophone - a tenor saxophone - all day long - meditations and cogitations I did before but this is incredible. So difficult to do whenever I want to do it. I will slowly walk in unison to my heartbeat. Ignoring the grass beneath or the sun above and think and feel and visualise - crispy burnt bacon --- huuuuuummmmm squeeeeekkkkkkk and boom boom boom trumptity dum doon fa so la ti doh. All I want for breakfast is in the module of a beautiful Galactic Flatulation of resonation and dissipation of the sweetest feelings. This is heaven - I am in heaven - when the flatulation of dissipation is in my creation.
Now off I to go to the back fence and see if it works today with no damage to the town.
Go inside myself - focus on the five senses of titillations of crispy burnt bacon.
‘Oscar - try another subject - try focusing on being a writer and then do it.’ Calliope said.
‘What I have a problem with is – there must be an easy way to do it. Take the pressure off me Travelling Terrestrials and let me sort this out myself. I have a lifetime to sort it out.’
‘No Oscar - you will have to do it whilst under incredible pressure - practice more Oscar - I know you can do it.’
'Onward and onward I press forward, making paw-prints in a desert of sand and then I see an Oasis. I am alone except for a stranger who has just poisoned the water hole. Only I can purify the water but will he kill me first.'
‘Oscar - forget it - you are wasting time procrastinating. Decide your priorities and then write your novel another time.’
‘Phewey - go focus on your own priorities - aren't I allowed a little bit of Walter Mitty in me?’
Back to practise of a controlled Galactic Flatulation. Wait on - I used the word 'control'. Is control a bad thing or good thing? Escere said Betty had control as a bad energy. I said I needed control to get it right. Ah - epiphany - I just had another epiphany - goose bumps and epiphanies - I love the feelings goose bumps give. Now - control - Calliope said I had the correct motive to use control - is that what Calliope meant? Words - words are like mud under the paws - words can be made into different things - changed - same word - different connotation - different meaning - ok - back to practise - to do this I need to keep calm - how many things could I do if there were benefits to a few mini Galactic Flatulations? I will wait until cricket practice today with Jack. In the meantime, I can write a few other things as practise.
Today puter, I write on my fun filled laugh a minute downward slide into a pit of slime where every creature sits waiting to eat my flesh, crawl through my eyes, and blind me forever. I then sit and wait for a hero to come along to save me from becoming an adult dog. To remain as a pup forever more, upon a shoelace tied into an eternity of foolishness and running and biting the ankles of other dogs. Oh - how can I stop this avalanche of bodily changes called aging and getting older? Responsibilities increase and abound as a sailor promoted and in charge of a yacht heading west into a setting sun. What is it that I need to take from puppyhood to being responsible? What tools do I need? I need a brain that explains a heart that feels, a body that endures. What else do I need? There must be a magic button to acquire wisdom like Fromoth. I have knowing but knowing has to do with knowing the situation - but wisdom - now that is something - I want to be able to write this but still - who would want to read a story about my experiences? I can write a list of all the things I know - a) I am a pup, b) I know nothing.
‘That Oscar is the sum total of many wise Sages; When a Sage admits their own wisdom and knowledge is the sum of all the parts which is nothing then the formula is the result of - nothing plus nothing equals nothing. Wisdom and knowing - to know nothing is admitting you have experienced life to discover there is another layer of life to experience. Think of that one Oscar - you are getting closer to your book Oscar. But first Oscar, you must be humbled.’
Clio and Thalia added – ‘giggle giggle.’
~~~
Chapter Five The danger of the night.
Jack has just arrived home from school and I have my leash in front of me waiting, hoping I will be going today to cricket practice with him. Ah, Jack I thought you would never notice. Jack now has a long rope and his bat and – and – and he is - yes – he is tying the rope around my collar - woopee – yes – yes – I am still his dog.
~~
This fence is not a very nice thing to be tied up to. You would think the oval would have nice fences. It needs a coat of paint - a few nails here and there and it needs something I can pull hard against - tug tug tug - snap - ah - now to run run run around the oval. To run free around the oval is the right of dogs - oh t
his feeling of running after red balls is great - oh oh - who is that? He is calling out - oh oh - this doesn’t look good at all. This man in a uniform has a rope. He is dragging me off the oval. What is happening to me? Now he has a muzzle around my snout. I am being lifted up, put into a cage, on the back of a small truck. Oh oh - I see Jack running to me - Jack is calling out to the man - oh - Jack is getting a piece of paper from the man and the man is untying my muzzle. Oh Jack my saviour - releasing me from a man who was going to kidnap me and demand a ransom and, and, and,- what? Jack has to pay a fine. Oh oh, - I am lifted back onto the ground and Jack is taking me to his cricket bat and ball. Jack is not happy - we are going home - I am the problem - if I did not lick that woman that day she would not have brought me to this family - problems - that is what I have created for Jack is problems.
~~~
Jack is inside the house and I am sitting at the back door. The flyscreen door stops me going inside but I can hear Slim Lips talking.
‘Jack, if you had of done what I told you this would never have happened. The problem is Jack - who is going to pay the fine? Who is going to look after Ocker if you get the scholarship? Who is going to look after Penny's cat too. If you get the scholarship, Penny wants to move to Brisbane and live with Aunty Robin and we then have a cat and dog here to look after. Think about it Jack.’
‘Mum, why don't we all live in Brisbane? We can all go there and Oscar and Escere can be both with us... why not mum?’
‘Jack, you don’t know anything about Real Estate prices. We own this house here but if we sold it the money we would get would not even pay for the removalists to get us there.’
I slowly turn my head and body, my head hangs low, my ears droop down, my destiny is in the balance... off to the next family - try another family - who wants a reject dog? Who wants to go through the rituals of getting a reject dog? Being a reject dog is not new... oh oh - hi Jack - yes please mate - a bowl of home cooked rice and vegetables with some chicken necks - oh some delicious gourmet doggie treats too... no cabbage and hard boiled eggs this time?
And what is that Jack? Your mother bought all this food just for me - just for me? Oh, Slim Lips, you are a dichotomy. I could solve my dilemmas and write this story as it unfolds. Someone might want to buy my book and we could all live in the biggest most luxurious kennel built. I would buy another, smaller kennel, for out the back with a kitchen in it. You could cook that meal for me every day for the rest of my life. And, you could come into my kennel after you cleaned the dishes. Yep, that’s right Slim Lips.
~~~
Now - to take stock of the issues here ---- I am supposed to be fitting into society - I am also to write a book about it - I am also to write a short story for Head of Galaxy - and all the help I get is? I don’t know what help I am getting. What is my need? My need in life is food and hugs. That is all. Eight words describe my story. So, with the wind that is blowing hard now and the thunder as it makes noises and the rain that is tempting to pour from the sky I will make a shelter in behind the rebuilt chook shed where there is a special box made up so that I can retire to. It is shelter from all the nasty things of nature like rain and storms. Skinny Man Ron put a rug in there. He patted me and assured me it was rain proof and very comfortable. It is getting dark as I slowly move across the backyard. The yard has a view looking through the trees on the other side of the fence. The moon is at half moon, as it appears low on the horizon. Shivers of expectation go through my body. The full moon approaches. My story doesn’t even have a premise or a theme to it yet. I read about all these ideas and writing styles but it remains so gibberish as though I have to learn a complete foreign language. Am I supposed to be a Hero? Am I supposed to write of a daily record like a diary? No - I am supposed to record my struggles as a highly educated Sage Dog. I do not know the meanings of these words. Oh sure, the dictionary meanings but you put these words into real life and boy, no wonder Godot had people waiting on him. He had manservants to help him with the plot - and stupid ones at that. The stupidity and foolishness of Ulysses that made meandering such a noble event of being a hero. I want modern day examples to copy or learn from - not stupid examples from past glories of hysterical history. I need a dog university to teach me what to write or how to do it.
‘Oscar, you are a parallel to Ulysses in your life. Your wanderings Oscar, and your capture of the scenes, are noted. Oscar, Ulysses never wrote, he was a king and had to return to his kingdom. But you are similar only in your return to yourself. Find yourself Oscar and write, write, and write some more. Find yourself first Oscar. That is what Ulysses had to do.’
Calliope, of all the tall stories and balderdash I have heard this one takes the cake and wins The Most Absurd Never Ending Story competition. 'Find myself', I have never been lost or gone away to pretend I was in a wooden horse. What a lot of garbage Calliope. A lot of garbage I say.
‘The full moon is soon Oscar. Two weeks until the full moon happens. Oscar you are on notice. Do it Oscar and stop putting every little excuse in front of you as to why not to do it. You will do it Oscar but if you do not do it as a volunteer you will do it as a conscript and conscripts are cannon fodder.’
Oh, I want to hide. Why me? Why do I have to be the one who stands up and is counted in a time of complete mix ups? When is Jack going? Where will I be living?
‘Jack is not going anywhere before midnight Oscar. Your whole short story could be written before midnight. Write without thinking otherwise you will get more confused like Ulysses did when he was blown by the four winds. More tools mean more confusion. Bye Oscar.’ - giggle giggle
It is now one minute before the moon goes behind the big fig tree. After the moon hides, I will lie down and think. But I am thinking now. Oh, not words again: so many meanings of so many words. And some words are so similar.
‘I notice your eyes just opened for the night Fromoth. Do you wake up instantly or go through a waking up period? Well, what I am asking is - is it ok to ask you a question? Are you awake or do you want to go off and find your evening breakfast?
‘Oscar, I am waking, I take a few moments before I take off for my breakfast. The field mice I love to eat for breakfast do not come out of their hole for another hour. What do you want Oscar? Would a sympathetic ear be of assistance in your meanderings?’
‘Fromoth, you are wise. I am supposed to be a Sage with Knowing. How is it these things are not helping me on my writing journey?’
‘Oscar, a writer once said; write from your heart so that the reader can relate to the words and associate them to how the story is written. Does that help Oscar?’
‘Nah.’
‘Well, what about you just write a story with five hundred words and when I return after my breakfast I have a look and give you my opinion.’
‘Ok, nah, yep, maybe - what about you write it for me?’
‘Oscar, do you expect to be able to sit and write from your life? Do you expect to accomplish anything after your puppiness leaves you and as an adult dog, you can go forth and wander aimlessly for 20 years? Write Oscar. I will return and speak with you but first - do it - do it Oscar and write five hundred words on anything.’
Then Fromoth flew from her roost.
I am a dog. - title - and I see clearly on a clear day. Delete button - where is it? Now Spellcheck turned on and away we go.
“Black and white. My life is black and it is white. In between white and black is grey. How many shades of grey are there? The answer is Infinity. For a colourful person such as me I see the same from yellow to red with infinite variations of orange in between. Life is a transition and where experience produces wisdom, which surpasses all knowledge taught. To compete is to win and or lose. When one person wins, another loses. When one loses, another wins. It never reflects how good the winner is. A winner could be the better of the two worst. And I am going to win against Slim Lips if it is the last thing I do.”
120 words. Shucks, I wonder a good fart in a bath. So much ea
sier if it is an old cast iron bath like my first owners had. To write five hundred words that makes sense. Oh dear, I think a walkies around the yard, think, and wait for Fromoth to return. Water, I need a drink from that lovely new bucket that skinny man showed me yesterday.
The words I write seem to come out easy and then all of a sudden it stops. Maybe I am to combine different thoughts. This is fun - all technical - the structure - the plot - the theme and the resolution. Oh dear – I forget the resolution. I am still upset after the resolution with the feral white cat. Now if I can get an idea of 'putting it together' - all the ideas - all the technical but I still do not have a something to write about --- ah - rubbish - I will ignore Character Growth- who wants to know about stupidity. Now, the bucket of water - so thirsty - I could drink from the fountains of youth or the wisdom of Shakespeare or drink from the annals of Famous Dogs in Literature. There is the famous police dog from Sydney. And, the story of White Fang - oh that was great story writing - White Fang - and famous Poodles who sat on their owners lap and ate ice cream and raw chicken necks from a gold edged saucer.
Gulp - gulp - gulp - oh now where is the bottom of the bucket? I could drink this beautiful water through a straw or through a veil. Water when you want it is for the soul. The fact I am told to do it must mean I can do it. Calliope, Thalia and Clio believe in me. I still do not trust them. I think they want me to be successful or famous. They are pushing me to do something I am supposed to be naturally gifted at: Storytelling. I am a puppy and should never be pushed. I should be allowed to find my own abilities by waiting until five minutes before I die and do it then and then die. That way no one would expect more of me.
Two words I hate --- 'being famous' and then people expecting me to do it equal or better the next time... fat chance - what about 'Controlled Failures' and then people can just see me as one of them - a complete nitwit nerd who sits and does nothing all day, every day. Maybe I do something like walk with my head and tail up high. Oh - this is interesting; when I walk with my head high, my thoughts change. Oh, jot that down on my Clipboard for entry later. What else is there I can do? Yes, the gate. I forgot about the gate I could not jump over - possibilities and probabilities of life - a new direction if I start my run up in a way that gives my paws some grip on the wire. Stand back further, a longer run up. Then - away - I am running faster, lower to the ground and spring from my paws. Use all my advantage in my legs to get more height - the gate, I have one paw over the top. My back legs are scratching, trying to get some more height. My head is over the top of the gate and my head is pushing down hard. My back legs are now secure - hold on with my head and one front leg I am up - oh wah - I am loosing balance and falling - it feels like an eternity of time as I land on the ground on the other side of the gate. I see the street . I see freedom. I see fun fun fun coming up. Who cares about writing or discussing things of the heart when freedom arrives in the sight of a street with no name but only a direction to go along snifting and lifting - snifting and lifting - a dog's paradise of shrubs and gate posts and then I see it. The statue of the founder of the town, standing in front of me. A complete assortment of smells and scents on the statue - how many dogs have stood in front of this statue and deposited their opinions onto the stonework below.