Soil is a wonderful thing. I like to move it. I like to really get down there and pull it all out. Do a proper job. Follow the urge.
Woman seems to have the urge too. I feel we are united, two kindred souls in a world of mystery. She digs it out, makes a perfectly good hole and an excellent pile of soil… then she puts a plant in the hole, and seems to want to leave it there.
There is something wrong with Woman’s kindred soul. Why on earth would she want to leave it there?
Tonight Man was away so Woman and I watched an excellent movie about some people digging a hole. The best I have seen, on account of the digging and on account of the excellence of the hole. Even though, unaccountably, they put the soil in their trousers, eating none of it. Best of all, though, then they all got into the hole.
I sensed it was a metaphor for the human condition. You dig and dig and dig and dig. Then, when you can dig no more, before you is a hole and it calls to you. Feeling, as rabbits do, the primordial pull of the calling hole, down you go. And out you come the other end. And that is when you recognise that you have triumphed.
The film showed no more digging from this point and I lost interest slightly, but later Woman hugged me a lot when the people were punished by the bad guys because they dug a hole and moved the soil, and so I watched. I understand now why the Woman hid the hole with a plant.
People are so much more like dogs than they acknowledge.
Hergest the Hound
I am a dog of many thoughts.