Dead Dog Dream

[C0ldf1re]

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Scott was a German Shorthair Pointer with a decent pedigree. He could  leap over a five-foot fence. Not merely scramble over it, mind; he could clear it like a horse. Once he plucked a low-flying bird out of the air, and caught it in his mouth. He then gently put it in my hand, with not a feather out of place.

Most pets in Britain cower in terror on the evening of 5th November, the anniversary of the foiling of the Gunpowder Treason Plot, when the humans celebrate with fireworks. Scott was born to be a gun-dog. He would knock over the lit fireworks and bark at them, and, after they had exploded, fetch the smoldering remnants back to me. 

But death was not the last that I would see of Scott.

Scott later came to me in a dream, to apologise for leaving my pack and deserting his post, as it were.


       Dead Dog Dream

Deep in my dream, the dead dog said,
He'd point my way, and go ahead,
To heaven where his ghost would heal,
And walk forever at my heel.



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