February 8th, 2011

A different kind of dog story

The day my dog spoke back to me, I realised how much I had cut myself off from humanity. What he said began a series of events that would change my life forever.

I had been climbing up and down the stairs, collecting papers and small pieces of equipment scattered there, before walking him and leaving for work. And he, as always, lay waiting on the mezzanine between the first two floors, his eyes following me as I passed.

I can’t sit still for long. Someone once told me the house is too big for one person but it isn’t too big for me: I can arrange my papers and equipment neatly in a vertical formation of rooms; and climbing or descending the staircase to visit them seems to settle my spirits.