Prompt: Write a description, a memory, and a fantasy about a particular object, also a monologue from that object's perspective. Take five minutes for each piece.
So Marje isn't an object, but with the recent death of my sister and brother-in-law's infamous dog, Phinney, my thoughts have been lingering on dogs of late. Here goes:
Description:
Marje is virtually coal-black with long fluffy ears, a short tail and a smooth coat (when it's short or she hasn't been recently bathed). She's just beginning to gray under her chin. Large dogs think she's a pip-squeak. Little dogs think she's huge. In other words, she's medium-sized - about fifteen pounds or so. Cute. She is definitely cute. Dogs and their looks are like humans. Some people are just people. Some are beautiful. Some are cute, and some are . . . well, let's just say they're not eye-candy. Marje is eye-candy in the dog-world.
Memory:
My favorite dog-memory is one of our previous dog, Minnie and her love for Lassie movies; but since this is about Marje, I'll stick to the subject. When we first brought Marje home, she fit in Marc's tennis shoe. She's always been a cuddly thing. She's laid lengthwise on my lap since she was half the length of my lap. Now, she hangs over the edge, so I have to rest my feet on some make-shift foot rest and let her stretch out the length of my legs. That's all beside the point though. I used to bring Marje with me some times to visit my mom who had Parkinson's. Her disease caused her muscles to freeze up at unexpected and often inopportune times. For Marje, this could be extremely frustrating because Mom would play catch with her. Unfortunately, it invariably happened that Mom would freeze up, ball in hand and arm raised - putting Marje into an almost uncontrolable frenzy of anticipation.
Fantasy:
I imagine Marje talking of course. Don't most dog-owners? These canines look at us with such expression that it's obvious they want to communicate with us. Other than Scooby-doo, I'm unaware of any of our four-legged friends that speak. There is one particular situation which I would find most helped by canine linguistics. When it's obvious that Marje would very much like for me to invite her onto my lap, I usually tell her to "come" (okay so I always tell her to come because I can't say no when she looks at me like that!), but she continues to stare at me as if I hadn't spoken a word. Somehow I haven't gotten the inflection or the tone just right. Marc always gets it right on the first go around. It drives me nuts. If only there was a collar or something that would translate her sounds into words so she could tell me what she's thinking!
Monologue:
Seriously, what is Mom's deal? She knows I want to get up on her lap, but she just looks down at me and slurs some incomprehensible syllables. Then she acts as if she's frustrated with me! How many ways can I ask? I stare at her. I whine. I crouch, ready to jump up as soon as she says the word, but she still doesn't get it. Some humans are so hard to train! Dad gets it, but that doesn't do me any good when it's Mom's lap that I want. I wish they had some kind of device that humans could put around their necks that would translate the sounds that come out of their mouths into canine so she could tell me what she's thinking!
So Marje isn't an object, but with the recent death of my sister and brother-in-law's infamous dog, Phinney, my thoughts have been lingering on dogs of late. Here goes:
Description:
Marje is virtually coal-black with long fluffy ears, a short tail and a smooth coat (when it's short or she hasn't been recently bathed). She's just beginning to gray under her chin. Large dogs think she's a pip-squeak. Little dogs think she's huge. In other words, she's medium-sized - about fifteen pounds or so. Cute. She is definitely cute. Dogs and their looks are like humans. Some people are just people. Some are beautiful. Some are cute, and some are . . . well, let's just say they're not eye-candy. Marje is eye-candy in the dog-world.
Memory:
My favorite dog-memory is one of our previous dog, Minnie and her love for Lassie movies; but since this is about Marje, I'll stick to the subject. When we first brought Marje home, she fit in Marc's tennis shoe. She's always been a cuddly thing. She's laid lengthwise on my lap since she was half the length of my lap. Now, she hangs over the edge, so I have to rest my feet on some make-shift foot rest and let her stretch out the length of my legs. That's all beside the point though. I used to bring Marje with me some times to visit my mom who had Parkinson's. Her disease caused her muscles to freeze up at unexpected and often inopportune times. For Marje, this could be extremely frustrating because Mom would play catch with her. Unfortunately, it invariably happened that Mom would freeze up, ball in hand and arm raised - putting Marje into an almost uncontrolable frenzy of anticipation.
Fantasy:
I imagine Marje talking of course. Don't most dog-owners? These canines look at us with such expression that it's obvious they want to communicate with us. Other than Scooby-doo, I'm unaware of any of our four-legged friends that speak. There is one particular situation which I would find most helped by canine linguistics. When it's obvious that Marje would very much like for me to invite her onto my lap, I usually tell her to "come" (okay so I always tell her to come because I can't say no when she looks at me like that!), but she continues to stare at me as if I hadn't spoken a word. Somehow I haven't gotten the inflection or the tone just right. Marc always gets it right on the first go around. It drives me nuts. If only there was a collar or something that would translate her sounds into words so she could tell me what she's thinking!
Monologue:
Seriously, what is Mom's deal? She knows I want to get up on her lap, but she just looks down at me and slurs some incomprehensible syllables. Then she acts as if she's frustrated with me! How many ways can I ask? I stare at her. I whine. I crouch, ready to jump up as soon as she says the word, but she still doesn't get it. Some humans are so hard to train! Dad gets it, but that doesn't do me any good when it's Mom's lap that I want. I wish they had some kind of device that humans could put around their necks that would translate the sounds that come out of their mouths into canine so she could tell me what she's thinking!
I have to say, I never thought about the dogs wanting us to wear something for translation purposes! If you look at my fb entry today, you'll see a pic of my pup stating the obvious: "That's fine if you want to go out in the rain, but there ain't no way I'm gonna!"
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