Posted in Short Story

A twist in tail

I was adopted when I was very young. A baby, actually. The family who adopted me, came into the orphanage one day, grabbed me from my cage and took me home. I still remember the feel of that blanket. I was wrapped into this soft blanket, probably by my biological parents. Smooth,silky and musty, it would soon become the only link with them. The blanket quickly became my favourite piece of cloth. It was always besides my cosy bed. That was the day I met my parents.

Father, was very fond of me when I was young. We used to play all the time. He was a cricket fan, so our favourite activity was to play  catch with the ball. I still remember the smell of the grass from the garden we used to play every evening. I purposefully rolled around in the grass. I loved it. Father knew that and so did not mid when I got mud all over my body.

After playing, we used to return home, have a small, quick wash(which I hated) and then I would sit on his lap, while he worked away on his desk till dinner was ready. I always loved the rhythmic typing he did when he sat on the desk. Although I never understood why he disappeared for hours on end in the morning, I was certain that he would appear late in the evening.

I used to love the boy who gave us our paper. Father loved when I fetched the newspaper for him in the early moring. I even used to bring his footwear when I thought he was about to go out of our house.

Mother, would always cook healthy and delicious food for us. They always cooked seperately for me, made me feel special. She would bath me in the morning, took me for my walks around the city, often to my favourite places. I especially loved the light poles and the small but thick poles (never knew what they were supposed to be for). For some reason they fascinated me. I even met others like me on our walks in the morning. Some of the people used to bend down to pat my head, some even gave a peck on my forehead.

I was having the best time of my life.

But all of this changed, suddenly after a few rainy seasons, as I got older.

Mom would no longer take interest in taking me for walks. She became fat. Even Father lost interest in me. No more games in the playground. The food was now straight out of a plastic bag and it smelled weird. Even my bed started to smell bad as it was not washed.Things were not looking good.I couldn’t even sit on my father’s lap.

Suddenly mom was taken away in a car. She seemed in terrible pain. Father went after her in the car. But they refused to take me in the car. They shouted at me. But I did not care. My mother was in trouble. I ran behind the car, but soon lost sight of it.

I returned home, eventually, worried about my mother. Father came home late that night, fed me, ate and then went out again.He looked very unhappy. It was a long night.I saw him again a bit late in the day, the next day. Now, he seemed happy and content, yet mother was nowhere to be seen. He fed me took me for a short walk and then vanished again. I was alone for the entire day.

This situation remained true for a few sunrises, when one day I finally saw mother !

Oh the joy!

I was ecstatic. I tied to leap on her lap, but father shouted at me. That’s when I noticed “her”. Like me, she was wrapped in a small blanket. Looked like I had a sister.

A few more days went by. My sister was still the center of attraction, but I loved her. I kept guard over her, being the older brother. I did not allow anyone other than mother and father to touch her. If anyone else tried, I would growl at them to warn them to stay away. No one hurts my sister!

But, now that I think back, I think mother and father did not like that. They used to growl at me to stop doing that.

Then one day, father took me out for a walk in the car. It was the happiest day in a long while.  I was finally being taken out after a long long time. probably for the first time since my sister came home.

I always loved the wind on my ears and tongue when I took my head out during these long drives. We stopped at a new place today. It looked like a corn field. I loved open spaces. Father  let me out of the car and told me to run.

So I ran. I ran to my heart’s content. It felt nice. I felt free. It had been so long since I ran so much. Eventually the excitement died down and then I realized, father was gone !

Where did he go ? Did he leave me here ? Nah. I am sure he will come back. Afterall, I am his good boy. I always wagged my tail in agreement whenever he called me a good boy.

I waited, but he never came back…

I think,they did not want me around, now that they had a baby girl to take care of. There was no place in their life for heir dog now.

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Posted in Humor, Life

Day(s) our lives

We have heard stories, jokes and now mostly memes that Monday is a very bad day, being the first working day of the week in most part of the word for most of the professions.

I disagree, however. I think Wednesday is the worst day of the week. I know such an outrageous statement begs an explanation. So here it is.

Monday : You spend most of the day retrospecting what you did on the weekend and daydreaming about the exiting moments of your life. also wondering if the odd photo on Facebook would garner record likes, or perhaps hoping a very odd photo would never reach the Facebook.

Tuesday : Just head down and working like a donkey/ slog , completely aware that there are still 4 days to go, but relaxed of the fact that you just came from holiday a day before.

Wednesday : Middle of the week. Worked for too long, yet too long to go before yet another weekend. You have no prospect of a break and loosing all faith to live.(exaggeration perhaps) You are now so tired(mentally and completely based on unfounded belief that you don’t enjoy working ). The break you took, seemed way into the past and the one coming, very much into the future.

Thursday : Just one more day to go before the weekend. Very much exited.

Friday : The weekend is almost here. The killer anticipation of the 5 o’ clock ring, is energizing. Very much looking forward to the weekend.

Saturday / Sunday : Weekend !

Now, some might say “If you enjoy your work, every day is a weekend”.

Well, in that case, how is that called taking a break from your routine ?