The Tale Of The Magical Dog (part one)

Every now and again my mind goes blank.

...

today is one of those days.

I can't really go into it too much but I have nothing new to say. Which may be a good thing. It stops me getting into further trouble for a bit, so let's go with that.

Instead of me just rambling on, literally about NOTHING, I shall instead share with you the first part of a story I wrote exactly 10 years ago.

Part two shall be up next week:

There’s no real way to describe how I’m feeling right now so I wont even bother. Instead I will tell about the most amazing thing that ever happened to me.

It all started about a week ago when I murdered my dog.

His name was Shep and he was the most disgusting animal you have ever seen in your life. I’m not sure what breed he was but the man in the shop said he had magical powers and could grant any wish I desired if I stroked his belly. I thought that’s a bloody good way to spend five quid and promptly made the exchange with the magic dog seller.

By the time I got home I couldn’t wait to try out my new magic dog and set about getting ready for my first wish. I sat on the sofa and reached down beneath his collar.

Shep was a brown longhaired kind of pooch. His ears flopped low past his chin. His eyes were small and beady like a criminal and his tail was stumped as though it had been removed as a pup. He was bigger than a German Shepard but smaller than a Jack Russell in a cant-make-my-mind-up-what-I-am kind of way. Very odd dog it was.

Anyway. There I was stroking and rubbing and tickling nearly every part of the underneath (because there are just some places males don’t like to touch on another’s body no matter what species it belongs too) and absolutely nothing happened.

Then I remembered what the man in the shop said with one of those reverbing echos that memories are supposed to have.

“You have to feed him before he will grant your wish.” It was at this point I realised why he said this into a paper cup. It seemed odd at the time but I thought it was just one of those dog seller things…

And so I fed him. I walked into the kitchen and Shep followed me, his tongue lolling around his mouth with gay abandon. It was almost as if the creature had a sixth sense about it.

I poured out a tin of chum into a bowl and lay it on the floor.

Shep looked at me as if to say. “You monkeys eat of the floor. I want silver service you biped buffoon.”

In an almost uncanny way I could read the dogs thoughts. I knew exactly what he wanted. I don’t mean to say that I heard the words in my head like another person was speaking to me. It was more like an idea I thought up myself but deep down I knew it wasn’t me.

In all the confusion I found myself helping Shep to sit at the table, his back legs resting on the seat of the chair while his front paws held him up to the bowl in front of him.

And I watched him eat. I watched my brand new magical dog eat at the table with a knife and fork. Which isn’t the easiest thing for an animal to do. Especially when they don’t have opposable thumbs.

But somehow Shep could do it and did it he did.

My magical dog!

After he had finished I washed his bowl and gave him a glass of water which he picked up in both paws and gulped right down. After a little burp he jumped from the table and made his way to the living room.

I followed and stared in wonderment as he climbed onto the sofa and began to flick through the channels looking for something dog worthy to watch. I was at this point everything went wrong and I began to realise that this dog was going to be more trouble than he was worth.