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The puddle, in league with chill mist slashed by surly drizzle, lay dark and rebellious across the path-so Harriet would not cross it. It was a puddle we could not skirt: tangled scrub withstood us either side. It was silent, yet seemed to have a voice only Harriet heard, forbidding us to pass. I tried to make her step through, but its waters defied her, and she knew it.
Was Harriet having me on? I didn't understand. After all, she crossed the flooded footbridge, waters flowing fast around her legs and into my wellies. Why not cross a puddle? Eventually, I understood: Harriet was trying to tell me something the puddle was telling her. I pulled a long stick from the scrub, pushed it into the sullen water. Collapsed path around a lidless drain, dissembling a puddle, swallowed the stick whole.
From that day, Harriet and I were not the same. We didn't cross a puddle, but crossed a line that deepened our trust in each other. We began to grow the bond Harriet had been afraid of, and which I had lived, but never truly felt.
3 comments:
Written up at our last meeting...transferred epithets exercise...needs a few tweaks I think. I am still amazed by our lurcher when I think about how messed up she had been, and the all the ways she demonstrated intelligence and (eventually) bonding 😍
A nice descriptive piece, Irena. Yep, you inserted the three transferred epithets. Sorted.
You can tell she's part greyhound by that ultra-high arch. Lovely dog. I like hounds.
Alex
Sorted 😊😊
She was a stunner! Won a championship at her first show (then second to supreme champion). And so many stories about her...not bad for a dog someone messed up and threw away💓
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