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May 27th. The injury.

Oh dear, says the Owner. The Moral Dog is bleeding from his ear.

I languish on my cushion and gaze at the Owner through Tragic But Fading eyes. Do not worry, I say, I have not suffered much.

I know, says the Owner, but you have dripped blood on the stairs.

Indeed I say, languishing more forcefully, I believe it has poured from my ear in a steady stream ever since mid afternoon.

There are three drips, says the Owner. I am going to clear them up.

It sounds like a positive lake, I say.

That slightly depends on ones Perspective, says the Owner. An Ant might say so.

You will not be able to Keep an Eye on me if you go to scrub away the lake of blood, I say. I am Fading Fast.

I will hold the memory of you in my heart, says the Owner, until we meet again.

I may not still be here to meet again, I say faintly.

I think you may manage the next Twenty Seconds, says the Owner. Call it Medical Instinct.

This is hardly the time for Wry Amusement, I say.  Should I not be having a last lolly? I say. It will allow me to prepare my Last Words, I say.

That is a Nice Try, says the Owner, but you have not even lost an earful, and it has stopped now. Besides, you have had Two Lollies already. One for Sympathy and one because you deceived the Man, who is slightly squeamish even about three drops.

I am sure it will bleed again if I shake it slightly, I say. Perhaps he will have to lie down again.

He has not got up, says the Owner. There is Only You and I, says the Owner. I am on the Midnight Shift and you are going to bed, says the Owner.

Will you have them play Afterglow as they carry me in, I say, and Undertow as they carry me out. I feel Genesis will capture the emotion of the Moment.

Of course, says the Owner. Those are an excellent choice. I will take note.

And ask Caspar to do the Eulogy, I say, what he loses in Fluff he makes up for in Gravitas.

I am sure Caspar will be excellent, says the Owner.

And you could have canapés, I say. And lollies, I say. Have you booked the caterers? I ask.

No, says the Owner.

Why not? I ask.

Because I am expecting you to soldier on for several Dog Decades before the canapés are required, says the Owner. They may end up Rather Stale.

I cannot believe you would Sacrifice the Dignity of my Departure for worries over a few Stale Vol-au-Vents, I say. And do not have any mushroom ones, I say. I do not like mushrooms, I say.

I have Triaged you, says the Owner. You are not going anywhere.

The Vet said I was beyond help, I say.

The Vet is very wise, says the Owner, and that is why you are not getting any help. You will recall that he briefly suggested a Head Cone but you escaped through the back Entrance and we had to drag you out of the hedge. That is why your ear is now bleeding.

Better Death with Dignity than a Head Cone, I say. I am a Dog, not a Lampshade, I say.

You only have yourself to blame, says the Owner.

I was Savaged by a Ferocious Dog, I say.

You caught your ear in Lucifer’s nose cage when you were rolling in the roses, says the Owner.

I am ebbing now, I say. The slow, steady drip of the lifeblood of the Moral Dog is returning to the earth from whence he came, I say. Where is death’s sting, where, grave thy victory? I say.

Actually it is all on your cushion, says the Owner. It will not wash out, you know.

You will be able to keep it as a memory of me, I say.

I am logging on for my shift now, says the Owner. Could you please drip quietly. Hello. This is the 111 doctor calling you back. Do you want to tell me what’s been happening? What can I do for you?

It is a Total Waste of Time Bleeding when your Owner is a Doctor. I am going to wait until she’s busy then go and bleed on the Man.



Categories: dignity dog dog philosophy

Hergest the Hound

I am a dog of many thoughts.

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