It’s the Christmas season, not that I have anything to be cheery about, I’m still living on Church Road in my cardboard box.
‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’ blares through the speakers at the Eaton Centre and unconsciously I hum along.
I heard somewhere about a stitch in time so this morning I hunted up some newspapers to wrap my feet in. My running shoes are thin and the wet snow goes right through. The insulation didn’t work. Slush soaks the shoes and my feet are cold; though the sun feels good on my back.
In my neighbourhood I can usually find a barrel or two going with a fire to keep warm. But I’ve come downtown for a change of scene and a bonfire wouldn’t be in keeping with these folks’ general air of snottiness.
A dog comes up to me, sniffs my foot and wags his tail then sits, his head tilted up with what appears to be a smile, as if he’s saying, “Hello friend.” He’s a funny looking thing, chocolate brown dachshund. He looks like one of the sausages the near-by food vendor is selling off his wagon. I am salivating at the odour and I think the dog probably is too.
I look at the animal and say “Hark.” Don’t ask me why. He jumps up from his sitting position onto all fours, wags his tail so fast the little stub is a blur and licks my hand.
I seen the dog around before, he has no tags so perhaps like me he’s homeless and a stray.
His reaction to “Hark” was like I called his name.
So now I have a dog. Just what I don’t need.
***Written for Blogophilia Week 51.6 Topic: A Stitch In Time Bonus Points: (Hard, 2 points) quote a Beatles song* I quoted two (Easy, 1 point) mention a bonfire