11.11

It had felt familiar. Somehow.

Like I was there before. One way or the other. Front-row centre, or at the Box, with binoculars, listening and grasping the rhythm.

Oh right.

This has happened before.

This was the precipice. This was the edge of things where the next wrong step is the eternal plummet. This was where I sometimes kneel to look over, wondering how far the fall, or how wonderful.

And how dark.

I was so close to falling.

Too close.

Never again…

******

I’ve never had the chance to say this, but I’ve got to at any rate, because it’s somewhere part good news, somewhere part nightmare;

We have a poodle puppy now.

A mini type, which is not quite as large as the regular, not quite as tiny as the Toy. She’s dark chestnut with a patch of white on her chest. She’s gnawing my toes off as I write.

Her name is Missy. I don’t know why I named her that. The parents, however, didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she’s the first dog that I named that they did - and could not - pronounce wrongly.

And since my brother and I are the type to give our dogs full names, her name would be Missy Colette du Fromage.

She smells of milk. And sometimes, cheese.

(For the record, Missy was the name everyone could agree upon, after Anya and Camille by me, and Mochi-Mochi by dad).

We adopted her from my mother’s client, whose poodle had a litter of 6; three of them which died. The lady was worried that the mother wouldn’t be able to care for the other pups properly, and had to give them out. Dad immediately jumped on the idea and voila; a cage in the house, and a puppy who has little mercy for my toes.

She’s grown on us. Especially me. Every warm night at the computer completing work, and she was there asleep by my feet, occasionally pawing my heels.

I’ve broken it to brother. He isn’t taking it too well.

***********

It’s friggin March now.

I won’t deny that I’m counting, but gee; times are so fast now that I couldn’t even remember when it was normally paced.

2 more till 22.

Hum dee dum…