A Light Unto The Nations

 

In the annals of human lore there are

unique and rare stories whose ancient

origins are located in the mists of time

and this is one of them. This is a story

of humankind whose iteration is endless

one for which there is surely a genesis but

just as surely no limit. It endures in all its

manifestations with no sign of flagging

as it makes its way into the future. It is

not a fable, not a myth, not a folk story

but a repeatable occurrence that no

measurable calamity is capable of stemming

for the cause and the reaction stirs itself to

life without end. It is not exactly a story

of unrequited love, nor is it a story of

human compassion overcoming adversity.

This story is, by any measure, one of

ghastly horrors, of a mass rejection of

the presence of a people upon whom is

visited, era following era, catastrophic

enmity and annihilation. It is a people

among whom the seed of genius has been

generously endowed yet whose purported

character is unfailingly held in contempt.

It is a people for whom hope and a future

is denied but they themselves cling fast.

 

Beware The Urban Forest

 

They are sagacious creatures, bold and

masters of strategy as befits those of

the animal kingdom's predators. Much

after all, depends on their practised

hunting habits, for in their ancestral

habitat they maintain a balance in the

presence of creatures they stalk. They

are also particularly adaptable, since

their once-wild geography was invaded

and with little interest in seeking refuge

from interlopers they have become

extremely skilled at slinking about 

the background making full use of the

same green spaces so valued by other

animal species including man. Human

habitation in close proximity to those

natural places where they can den and

procreate is of little account for they

are also adept at scavenging albeit not

preferentially. Their appearance is

similar to that of the dogs that people

walk in natural settings, oblivious to

the presence of untamed canids though

the dogs detect their presence alerting

themselves that long-distance cousins

are about, seldom imagining themselves

prey. Silently lurk the coyotes, awaiting

opportunities; one offering the prospect

of play-time friendly dogs are eager to

indulge in, unaware that others unseen

follow behind fully prepared for group action.

 

 

National Dilemmas

 

  Photograph: Sombo Sombo/Alamy

In poverty-stricken countries of the world

 
which we may no longer refer to as Third World 

 
countries but rather make full use of the 

 
euphemism 'emerging economies', there is one

 
inexhaustible natural resource the envy of

 
First World economic nations; the growth

 
steady and reliable, of their populations where 

 
the natural increase grows and grows despite

 
privation, food scarcity, joblessness and lack 

 
of medical care and the unfortunate loss of life 

 
accompanying those lacks. In those countries 

 
governed either by incompetents or a hierarchy 

 
of privileged elites for whom nothing of concrete

 
value lacks, the great unwashed for whom 

 
sanitation, potable water, basic foodstuffs, power

 
and health care remain beyond imagination it's 

 
live or perish as fortune rolls her die, and  hope 

 
is lost. Yet wealthy nations grapple with their

 
confounding statistics that emphasize population

 
replacement expectations remain mysteriously 

 
misplaced for as the aged die, fewer are born to 

 
replace them. This, even as administrations enact

 
legislation and expend treasury to enhance

 
the prospect of child-bearing, offering measures

 
inconceivable to those others, even while

 
residents of wealthy nations sneer at their

 
subsidies, the child care provisions, the health

 
care, the paid parental leave, as insufficient

 
in depth and quantity as a persuasive gambit.

 

 

Oh Unhappy Fate

 

What's a prince of the House of Windsor

to do when his grandma was so mean to him?

The covenant as he knows it, is shattered

and it is nought to do with him. Bred in

his purple blood he knows his royal

prerogatives. Where now can he turn

betrayed by all but those entranced by

his free-wheeling celebrity? To that manner

born was he, inherited from the mum whose

absence he mourns. A thespian he, with a

penchant for costumery and Tomfoolery

for whom the forbidden held an estimable

attraction as he raged against conformity

and basked in the glare of publicity gaining

admiration from rank commoners' penchant

in aversion from social niceties. Suffering

the ultimate pathology of love and hate in

his dodgy connection with a public passion

for royal disgraces he has, like another

sought to right royally bring discomfort

to the royal family. Yet he has matured, the

impish non-conformist become a family

man, discovering a persona so alike that

of the mum he lost; addicted to attention

serene in her ego, tempting the paparazzo

while railing against loss of privacy, poor

soul. How traumatic to finally discover that

though entitled, he does not make the rules

to do as he wishes while retaining titles and

 public largesse. So what then is a prince to do

downgraded to junior Duke and Duchess?

 

 

Exhibitionism's Grandeur

 

 

This child whose face is perpetually grimed

 

in a paroxysm of rage will never win a beauty

 

contest nor be credited with a sweet demeanor

 

but she has become immensely popular as one

 

with an aggrieved message to deliver in a

 

manner quite congruent with her pathology on

 

the autism spectrum of oppositional defiant

 

disorder, despising authority so redolent of

 

adolescent juveniles' resentment of adults'

 

positioning themselves as authoritarian in the

 

belief they have the right to regulate children's

 

behaviour. Children invest much in their gleeful

 

assertions that it is adults with their lack of vision

 
who have disrupted nature's unblemished accounts.

 
What a different world we now inhabit than might 

 
have been imagined a half-century ago when 

 
parents felt assured of the sex revelation of

 
their offspring at birth, to the very present 

 
when what you see is not necessarily what you

 
believe with gender dysphoria representing yet

 
another life-disruptive issue in the social order

 
pitting progressive authority against the mere

 
status of parenthood. Long years past people

 
were aware of quaintly rare anomalies such as 

 
hermaphroditism and homosexuality and the

 
attraction to transvestism as an entertaining

 
novelty, before an entire championship and

 
celebrated industry arose embracing the 

 
new reality of errant humanity's fascination

 
with the dazzling display of nature's occasional 

 
deviation from the boring irrelevant ordinary.

 

 

Arming The Faithful

 

In a world obsessed with the wonders

of high tech, give some thought to the

preoccupation of Islam's ventures in faith

introducing to the world the advances

that can be made in asymmetrical

warfare with the use of low-tech and

no-tech, simply ingeniously using tools

at hand beginning with tasking the devout

to prove the strength of their faith in jihad

with the ultimate sacrifice exalted in

the noble robes of martyrdom and heroism

to which end suicide vests become the

explosive devices of first choice followed

in haste by the simple medium of

improvised explosive devices as an

example, and for truly maximum impact

in the efficacy of holy wars astutely

diverting passenger jets as missiles

aiming to strike symbolic high-rise 

edifices housing thousands of those

unpliant non-believers as their just due

for insulting the Prophet. And during times

of high tension confronted by powerful

states whose enmity augers conventional

warfare their armaments well equipped

to extinguish the ambitions of conquest

full use of deadly missiles in planned

mass slaughter to send the world into

disbelief at the commission of war crimes

yet not seen as such by the perpetrators who

profess no responsibility for the carnage

and cast blame on those surreptitiously

assaulted by proxy militias on order

from none other than the sacred scripts

of a holy spirit whose disciples are legion.

 

 

Silently

 

Silently, cresting the blue bowl
of the sky, the snow goose
spreads wide its wings
loftily gliding in its
mundane ecstasy of flight
this mid-November day.

Well below, sturdy masts
of gnarled old pines stir in the
prevailing, insistent wind.
In the depths of the woods
stir creatures of the wild.

An owl, unperturbed or
deliberately unmindful of
anguished, irate shrieks of hawks
the racketing of mobbing crows.
He roosts, in a tree crook
master of surveillance
to swoop when he cares to
upon un-vigilant mice, hare,
voles and birds not of his
distinguished feather.

Oblivious to the riotous drama
woodpeckers clank lustily
on trunks of spruce, pine, fir.
The lunatic peal of the Pileated
rents the atmosphere.

Signalling arrival of dark
scudding clouds obliterating
the wavering, late-afternoon
sun. Soon, ice pellets strike
against the landscape.
The chattering of nuthatches
chickadees, waver, then still.

The lion of winter testing his
imminent arras. The season resists
damping winter's ardour. Sleet
turned to innocuous rain
thrilling the primeval moulds
mosses, lichens and ferns.

Look, there - on the forest floor
a body, swiftly decaying.
Its red breast and sadly
dishevelled feathers a mass
of compost to enrich the
leaf-dense, richly damp earth.
Tardy migration has its price.

 

 

Unquestioned Faith

 

William Blake

What a conundrum it is that the human psyche 

finds no rest within its spirit in the absence of

the recognition of faith in a spiritual and heavenly

instructor whose divine guidance resonates in

the human soul with gratitude that such an 

all-powerful spirit, one whose nature it is to

permit the existence of all that is and to grant

humanity exceptional stewardship of all

creation as the centre of the universal being

of all that is and will ever be, favoured as they

are with the instruction to worship none other 

for all are false posing as prophets claiming

kinship with the almighty one, of whom there

is none other. Peace and loving kindness the 

primary observation of this tender god in whose

name and thunderously pious injunctions to

follow and bear witness bringing others to his

celestial knee, in the process striking the terror 

of anger in no wise suppressed should human

actions displease the spirit in whose name peace

and loving kindness is proffered to all, even the

misguided, choosing to abstain from serving

god's will, who for their unfortunate choice must 

vacate life, for what the holy spirit has created 

that same spirit can uncreate, with the avid

helpfulness of those of unquestioned verities.

 

 

Our Selves

 

Suspended in the primal aqueous
security of our mothers' wombs
we take presence in the genetic soup
that forms us, absorb our mothers'
plaintive whispers of accented fear
experience beyond memory the pain
and anguish that will mark our days.

Leavened by primordial nature's
ever-evolving displays of being
and the opportunities we are enjoined
to grasp, complementing destinies
fulfilling souls' desires. In the process
finding elusive pleasures. Discovering
possibilities, clasping them close
and in a lifetime hurling ourselves
into the future, the reality of life.

Neatly side-stepping when we may
the imperial realities of all existence that
inform and forewarn us, even while
we studiously look elsewhere
preferentially remain oblivious
to that long and steady journey
an imperative we cannot deny.

But then, why linger on the distant
inevitability when we can take comfort
in the meaningful present. Impressions are
what form our memory, our being
clasped close to the heart of who we are.
While we are here, the who and what we
are is what must consume our being. 

 

A Tale of Two Walls

 

Unexpectedly, spectacular in its bitter resolve
to remain there, squatting mercilessly
as the symbol of irreconcilability
it suddenly, miraculously imploded on itself
collapsing, leaving a host of dazzled,
confused, triumphant prisoners
to emerge, the light of freedom realized
settling into consciousness like the
heavens themselves revealed. Free at last.

Echoes of another, earlier release
from brutal bondage barely recognized,
memories of the living dead released
from death camps. How precise is this irony
that the murderously irenic-averse
population complicit with the annihilation
of the pestilential Jews among them
suffered themselves a dim shadow of the
relentlessly mortal agony of official genocide.

The cleansing of the community,
the nation, the continent and ultimately
the world, of the existence of predatory
power-assertive, controlling Jews.
Shakespeare would have thrilled to
this moral dilemma, the bleak humour,
the black destiny, the upheaval
and the clever disposal of so many
throwaway lives, from infants to
three-legged doddering babblers.

Yet another anniversary; that which presaged
the cruel turmoil, the incessant slaughter
signified by shards of gleaming glass, goes
yet unacknowledged. There are the usual
preliminary dark clouds gathering on the
endless horizon of man's inhumanity to its own.
Another Kristallnacht abetted by the demonic
slander that soils the atmosphere. Perish
the very thought! But all the symptoms, the
signposts point unerringly there.

The dissenters - all those whose livid hatred
of surviving world Jewry become now citizens
of their very own land, their sovereign country -
speak of their own truth; their resurgent bigotry
has found its very own theme to augment
The Protocols, with another wall of desperation.
This one separating not a single nation with
polarizing ideologies, but two separate nations
one of which designs to obliterate the other
while proclaiming itself the sad victim, the
other the evil damned-by-acclamation occupier.

 

 

The Yearning Widow

 

Little do they yet know

she has long since freed her spirit

from the confines of her body

in her grieving yearning to join him

who preceded her and left a

yawning chasm of desolation

her mind could not overcome.

They who love her and for whom

her bleak future, blank stare and

refusal to live in his abysmal absence

resolve to resuscitate in her a will

to live through the poignant memory

of what was, little comprehend the

depth of the irresolvable vacuum 

and futility of their focus on life for one

who has lived and now will not. 

 

 

Male/Female She Created

 

The 'mother' of all that exists, Nature is less

a perfectionist than she is an inspired and

sometimes reckless experimenter dedicated

to trial and error with a truly impish sense of

humour. Having designed the ultimate creation

with a brain struggling to compete with her own

ineffable genius, she also gifted that creature

with the pleasures of procreation and conferred

upon it a binary reality infusing one half with

the attributes of motherhood the other left with

the endowment of an instinct for the hunt and

so they evolved man-the-source-of-sperm and

woman welcoming the outcome in her gifted

womb. In all her creatures was this gift of

creation proffered; those in the air, in the seas

in the trees and on land with the occasional

misfiring of neurons and confusion of genetics

to a place where males imagine themselves

females and females certain they are males

disrupting the order of Nature's deliberations

though in point of fact it is she herself whose

attention occasionally and infamously lapses

into distractions that confuse the formula.

 

 

How Strange It Is!

 

As a feature of indecent human nature to

jealously guard what is not theirs in the

arcane belief that claims are nine-tenths

of a just law of ownership it is beyond

strange that the most creatively talented

group on Earth from ancient times to

the present remains hounded, threatened

detested, their heritage and ancestry

mocked and belittled yet the articles

of their faith, their history, their land

and their contributions to the world

that shuns them are valued decoupled

from their source in counterclaims of

authenticity. From brilliance of thought

and reasoning, execution of monumental

discoveries to the ultimate horrors of

deliberate annihilation the world rushes

to claim originality and victimhood as

their very own experiences, denying both

achievement and martyrdom to the tribe

whose very existence profited them all.

 

 

Pastorale

 

The setting sun
like an Amondisc
Throwing waning light
in searching fingers
on oblique mountains
fencing the lake
where purple martens
swoop lazily
and robins
offer a paeon
to another day.

The honeyed air
casts an amber glow
over your flesh
mystically
as of some ancient rite
etching the features
of your face
defining the
slow undulations
of your body.

I cup this image
in memory
now and then peruse it
turn it like a
fabled treasure
to catch the light
of another day.

 

 

Faces, B.C.E.

 

Immutable stone
steatite, limestone
sandstone, granite.
Anthropomorphic
... zoomorphic
inert materials.
Human hands
... worked you
into aesthetic
definable shapes
aeons ago.

.... Your
bland fierce asexual
visages confront me
the inheritor of
art pre-historical
... my steps ringing
through stone corridors
of stone buildings
erected to house
... stone artifacts.

Meant to outlast
your creators
... you yet live
in a mythic
... skin-itching way.
I look at you
and you look
right back at me.

 

 

The River

 

The St.Lawrence winds
energetic coils
through the landscape
of this spring day
like a great serpent
roused from winter's
sere abeyance and
seagulls coast the wind
screeching for handouts
from people picnicking
on the lush banks
sheltered from the rain
by long swoops of willow.

Rain stipples the river
bounces off its taut skin
and waves lap the shore
twisting bleached logs
against the rocks
piled there and
multifariously shaped
tinctured like some
titan's cast-off playthings.

A robin serenades
in glad anticipation
driven to frenzied compliment
and still the gulls
wheel and swoop
teasing us for handouts.

Far on an island bank
a great blue heron
daintily steps among the reeds
its head outthrust and
primordial; at once risibly clumsy
yet imbued with timeless grace.

Fish lunge, leaping for mayflies
those myriad airborne sprites
celebrating spring. In the
distance great lakers skim
the river like great
sea behemoths. The
river teems with purpose
responding to needs
uncoils its sinuous length
hosts, transports and feeds.

 

 

Night

 

Dark pulses warm and moist
on the springtime air
this night. There hangs
a voluptuous moon
luminous and heavy
as woman with child
casting a diluted coruscation
limning leaves
rustling in the slight breeze.
Birds shift in the trees
somnolently ease feathers
beak comforting birdtalk
to one another
their sounds near lost
in the concert of crickets
the creak of the frogs
beating the night
so it shifts and breathes
croaks and trills
like some giant
unknowable beast
like some well-greased
programmed device
a perpetual motion job
turning out generation
after generation of
night revellers
nocturnal emissions
fleeting the darkness
spiralling tree tops
the hunted, the hunters
silent in pursuit or flight
the crickets and frogs
in a rising crescendo
of purpose
drowning the silence
of the chase.

 

 

The Wind

 

 

The wind
impatiently
chases leaves
down deserted streets
where they gather
defiantly
in gutters.

The wind
biting nips
of sharp bits
through the fall integuments
of summer-dreaming people
refusing winter.

The wind
churlishly hurls itself
at life still green
on the lilac bush
waving like wan flags
long after the
colourful parade
has passed.

The wind
leonine in its rage
ravages chunks of clouds
scatters them
in tattered dark hues
across the face
of the hard white sun.

The wind
raging its sovereignty
guides summer birds
on homing passages
through the torrential sky
wings beating
the drum
of winter escape.

 

 

Yesterday's Child

 

 

 

 

Fiddleheads in the garden
slowly unfurling
lilies-of-the-valley
not yet belling
the Manchu cherry
sprinkling white confetti
on the vibrant green
of urgent grass;
swallows executing
their preying arabesque
while beyond, the sun
a pyromaniac's frantic dream
slips behind the house.

Sitting idly on the swing
spring air filters
through the maple's
tender thrusts
as bees target
straight for home
and the mesmerizing hum
of the neighbour's mower
returns growth to order.

The children
never recall other years
only living in the warmth
of the breeze
pulling stray hairs
beyond the spiralling
loops of the bicycle.
Memory of another child
lingers close behind the
flushed faces of
this spring day's children.

Nature's Ethereal Restiveness

 

In a blaze
of spring entitlement
our fruiting trees
treat us to a display
of pink, magenta, white
blossoms that bees
and hummingbirds
respond to, an
invitation to dine
resplendently as
though winter's
white landscape
was merely preparation
for the glory to come.
All our senses
engaged in the
sensuality of form,
colour and fragrance,
the apple and pear blossoms
and Japanese quince
the flowering peas
(Madonna, we recognize
your delicate fingers
on this offering of piety
and nature's resurgence!)
The crabapple ornaments
the hugely magnificent
magnolias, offering
an image of Eden.
Nothing in this world
is forever, the wind
scatters the aroma of new life
breezing the petals
over the changing landscape.

 

 

Entertainment

There's sublime irony
in the North American
television public selecting
both Holocaust and
All in the Family as their
hands-down favourites.

The lovable bigot
is our Everyman,
a symbol whose rantings
all deplore, are amused by
recognize in the other guy.

The Holocaust horror
is the fairy-tale in reverse;
fascinating, repellent,
bearing no relation whatever
to Everyman's foibles.

The one elevated to
delightful eccentricity
the other to a muted aberration,
a fallible error
in human behaviour -
all relating to 'them'.

We're just innocent
spectators in this game
of hunters and hunted;
entertained by it all.

 

 

Weep Unfulfilled Lives

 

We seek out intimacy
assurances of personal
validation to give
direction, purpose
and meaning to our
fragmented, disorderly
helpless lives
tangentially torn by desires
beyond our capacity
or will of purpose
to discipline
succumbing like
helpless children
to the tantrums
of self availment.

Then mourn, alone
and inconsolable
at the meanness of nature
fating failure as though
free will is
forever hostage
to our inability to rise
above emotion
instinct, self-destruction.

Liberated from the
discordant bonds
of commitment
a temporary relief
freedom, spontaneity
regained, only to succumb
to boredom, insecurity
isolation, fear and
loneliness. The adoption
of a kitten becomes
a temporary salvation;
company, intimacy
responsibility re-met.

The oppressive singularity
of life alone vanquished
for a moment of anguished
relief, adrift on a sea of self-doubt.

 

 

The Creaky Cerebellum

 

Clever is as clever does
memory favours
us both and we share no
difficulties in routine
matters both still
working in overdrive
through long familiarity
and comfort with
each other's presence.

Yesterday morning
meaning to warm the teapot
I instead flushed boiling water
into his waiting coffee pot
full of fresh-ground
freshly-roasted coffee beans
then absently swilled
the lot into the sink
teapot still there, undisturbed.

He laughed, assured me
nothing wrong with the brain
just full of other concerns
then re-ground another batch
for that perfect morning coffee
he so enjoys
and I my morning tea.

This morning his coffee
plunged oddly, taste lacking.
I discovered on removing
the plunger the assembly in
incorrect sequence. He'd dried
the dishes as I washed
and it was he assembled the plunger
I archly pointed out.

Made your day? asked he
slurring the query into
Major Day, as I responded
No, General Havoc
but all the synapses are firing
on cue. We're still capable
and cerebrally functioning
up to expectations; have
another three decades
to mature, gracefully.

The Fearsomely Ferocious Dog

 

He was tiny as a puppy, could comfortably fit in a person's hand. And he didn't mind that at all, instinctively taking pleasure from the warmth transmitted. He was delicate, had a pair of fabulous luminously-large eyes, and a picky appetite. As he grew, so did his hair, voluminously. He resembled a mop more than he did a little dog. In fact, his people had a little fuzzy bed for him, and its interior was the same colour as his hair. Curled up in that little bed one would never suspect a little dog was there, he blended so perfectly with the interior.

In so doing, he risked being stepped on. Good thing the only one doing that stepping-upon was the peoples' infant grandchild. Still, the distress that brought to the little animal was manifested by its yipping protest, and the child was admonished to exercise greater care in future. The future brought age to the tiny dog and the child, both. And while the child learned the lessons carefully taught her, the tiny dog went his own inimitable way. Tiny he might be, but ferocious also.

To this tiny dog's way of thinking rabbits were very nice, cats were tolerable, squirrels awaited conquest, and dogs - well, dogs of any description, any size, were abominable creatures not to be tolerated. Not, in any event, by him. Meanwhile, he was so small for so long that he was never walked on a leash, but set into a camera bag, slung over a shoulder and carried about everywhere. He was more than comfortable in his little bag, and on seeing it on the floor, would hop in and settle himself down for transit.

Eventually it came time to teach him that he could wear a collar and a harness, and be attached to a leash. He would now walk on his legs, like any respectable quadruped, through the neighbouring woodlands for daily exercise. Everything attracted his curiosity, but most especially bugs and insects he might come across on the forest floor. They represented hunting potential and he tracked them with his nose - and then - pounced.

His people tried all manner of persuasive ploys to divert his attention from the presence of other, oncoming dogs on the trails, but nothing quite succeeded. He was ultra-aware, and reacted predictably unfortunately; barking, snarling and generally behaving abominably, an embarrassment to the people he was with, but an act of overweening hubris on his part. Tiny he might be, but he had the courage - or the stupidity - of a giant.

He would indeed, unless restrained, physically attack astonished giant dogs, like German shepherds, dobermans, huskies. Apologies were proffered and his people hurried along with him, admonishing him for his obnoxious behaviour. They tried using a cap pistol to startle him when he would begin barking at other dogs, tried squirting lemon juice at him, tried carrying a tin can full of pennies they'd jangle but to no avail.

He was his own hero, and that was that, simply put. Oh, there was one dog for whom special dispensation was given, an old, overweight and most amenable beagle, whom the tiny dog did virtual leaps of joy over and around; his own, very favourite companion animal. Who responded to the tiny dog's antics and expressions of love by attempting to channel him under his considerable weight with a certain act in mind.

When summer was spent and cooler weather heralded, the tiny dog responded by communicating to his people his misery. Upon which little sweaters would be pulled over his head and legs and back, and the bliss of warmth would be re-established. In the winter months daily excursions into the woods continued, but now the tiny dog was outfitted in a cozily-warm winter jacket and hand-made boots to ensure his body heat would not be lost.

On one occasion walking on a snow-deep trail, his person lacked alacrity when a malamute suddenly appeared and the tiny dog lunged at it. The malamute responded by taking the tiny dog into its great maw and holding it there. The tiny dog's snarls turned immediately to squeals of indignation and fear. His fearful person bent on knees on the snow-tamped trail, to gently pry him from the jaws of the complacent malamute.

His people were truly perplexed. Their loving little - sorry, tiny - companion who would never miss an opportunity to leap upon their laps if they were seated reading the newspapers and cuddle up, to sleep, and who, at night burrowed deep under the covers in bed alongside them, never moving throughout the entire night, could not be cured of his aggression toward other dogs. They hadn't had him neutered, fearing the consequences of anaesthesia.

Finally, however, the deed was done. He was brought home in utter misery and pain, whimpering and cuddling close to his people. They dressed him in infant-wear -- an infant-sized-onesie -- to ensure he would not incessantly lick the source of his pain, a sutured wound. And they cradled him, and spoke gently to him, and reassured him, and the world once again seemed a reasonable place for an apricot toy poodle.

Alas, although his markings in the house ceased, his aggression toward other dogs did not. Mind, once he had seen another dog on a number of occasions and had become familiar with it, he no longer felt hostile toward it. Not like those anonymous dogs (and horses) appearing on the television screen from time to time who required constant vigilance lest they invade the safety and security of his home.

And now he demonstrated a hitherto-absent and profound interest in food. All manner of food. And as much of it as he could scarf, licitly and otherwise. And his once-delicate frame began to fill out. Which did not stop him from energetically matching stride with his people, even to completing half-day treks up and down (modest-sized) mountains to achieve a summit, then return to base.

In the spring he would sense the presence of increasing warmth and sun. Oh, the sun, the powerful warming rays of the sun; he adored the sun. Even on cooler days on spring's arrival he would insist on sitting outdoors if the sun was full out, soaking up its warmth, revelling in its comfort; it was his element and the medium of his quality of life. Still is.

He is older, and wiser in some ways, but not too many. His every wish is his peoples' command, so in that sense he is wiser than they.