A Mutt's Muse.

I seem to have spent most of my life wandering the streets like a stray dog looking for a home. And just occasionally somebody would stoop down and say: ‘Oh, my. You’re a nice dog. Would you like to come home with me?’ And I haven’t believed them at first because I learned as a puppy that humans can be a bit fickle when it comes to their choice of company. But eventually I’ve come round and wagged my tail, at which point they would say: ‘On second thoughts, maybe not. You’re a bit of a mongrel, aren’t you? I think I’d prefer something with a pedigree. Besides, you look a bit old to be doing tricks. So run along now, there’s a good dog. Better luck next time.’

‘But in spite of those few hiccups, you’ve still had plenty of homes.’

‘I know.’

‘And you ran away from them all.’

‘I know.’

‘Why was that?’

‘I suppose they weren’t right.’

‘Beggars can’t be choosers.’

‘Herbivores can’t eat meat.’

And anybody with half a brain cell will realise that I’m not talking about physical homes here. As far as they’re concerned, I much prefer being the single occupant. This is but a gentle allegorical muse engendered by a single brief encounter. Furthermore, I know this is of no interest to anybody but me. It’s just that musings can be amusing if you write them down.

*  *  *

Meanwhile, back at the ranch – or should that read ‘between the council wheelie bin and the sick-spattered wall?’ – it appears that somebody is hiding something from me with evasions and misinformation. Not that it matters.