The Books that Never made it

The simple life of greatness

It was gloomy weather in downtown London and even though it was spring, you could never tell.

         I sat in front of the television like I always did in the late afternoon, alone, left in my own comfort, lost in the moving pictures on the screen.In the mornings I would wake up, my master, Arthur, would wake around nine—maybe lying around till ten if he wanted, and sluggishly got dressed and made breakfast for the two of us. He usually stuck to his plain cereal or a small bowl of yogurt with fruit. He never liked anything too warm or complex. He would always say, “Simple things for the complex and creative mind, leads one to greatness”.

Anyway, I’d get my everyday bowl of kibbles—the lamb and chicken kind with a spoonful of wet food as a treat if I was good and sat nicely without a word while he prepared it. Then after that, Arthur would slink into his office and work away the long hours of the day—writing his book.

         It wasn’t always easy being the pet of a writer. I would sometimes get lonely while Arthur spent the majority of the day in his study. I remembered when he’d first picked me up from the pet store after staring at me and my littermates through the window of the shop. He was most peculiar, Arthur was. He was taller than most, long and lanky with unattended brown hair. I remembered his bright blue eyes when he’d asked the lady that tended us if he could hold me.

         “Yes, that little one right there,” he’s said pointing in my direction.

The lady had picked me up in her arms and handed me off to him, his arms instantly coming around me, bringing me close into his chest. I didn’t squirm, I didn’t fuss, I just relaxed against his warm body, happy and content.

         “This one will do just fine,” he said to the woman who grinned and stalked off.

When she was gone, he’d turned to me, holding me up in his arms so we looked each other level in the eye. “Now, you and I, we’re partners now. I’m gonna take you home and we’re gonna live together, but I need you to know that it’s not gonna be like some doggy fairytale, its going to be a good life, a short life—a simple life. Simple things that come to one unfortunate man—or in your case, dog, can lead him to greatness.”

It was then on Arthur and I understood each other and the life of simplicity we both lived, basking in the ‘greatness’ he’d promised me. I didn’t ask for anything and neither did he. We both wanted nothing from each other. It was an odd thing, but neither of us objected.

         When Arthur did take me for walks, it would be usually to the park and back. Arthur never took me to the dog park. It was too ‘uncivilized’ he’d said. “You have those unclean, untrained breeds milling about, littering feces and other bodily fluids, humping anything that moves. You don’t want to hang around that sort, boy. It is not a simple life to socialize. The likes of those animals won’t lead you to greatness.” So, I went happily with him to the human park, where there were joggers, hot dog and ice cream venders and a single wooden bench where he and I would sit and watch as the ducks floated on the surface of the pond, rolling about in the water, feasting on the simple treats the life offered them.

We often passed venders, specifically hot dog venders. I wondered about this human treat, knowing perfectly well it wasn’t actually cooked dog, but Arthur didn’t seem interested in ever buying one. He’d stopped once, his eyes looking, but his body didn’t move forward. I’d looked up to him and he shook his head.