Oh, hi there. It’s me. Sasha. I just want to tell you that this is MY work – MY story – MY life. You can not steal it and bark about it as your own. I will tell Diana to sic her boss men on anyone who does steal my stuff. These young hounds of hell men with their dusty, dry documents and other older hounds of hell men in black bath robe things that bang their paws on their desks, will chase after you and run you to ground if you do steal it. Just barking and marking my territory…
So, ok. With the grumpy territory marking stuff out of the way, here is the ruff draft introduction to my story. Hope you like it.
I could lie here forever – my short, fox red fur against the cool sheets – paws up – on this wide open bed. The late night breeze nuzzling my pink, naked belly lulled me to sleep. Warm, drowsy summer nights cure me. With each passing night, I forget a little more of the old days.
I smell the whole of the world as it floated past in the dark. Some of the smells were amazing. Some of them not so much. Some of them I knew what they were but I don’t know what to call them. Smells of the earth, I guess. The result of sunshine and rain, BBQ meat, perfume and car exhaust. And cheese. I can always smell cheese. I can smell cheese before it’s even made. It’s an almost 100% true fact that I can smell at least 100x better than humans. At least 100x, if not more.
I pulled the air in through my long nose. The rabies tag on my harness jingled as my chest rose and fell. My mocha colored nose quivered back and forth, assessing each scent molecule as it floated across my tongue, on the way to the back of my throat.
Tonight marked the middle of summer on the calendar. The air is so thick and full it dragged heavily across my nose. It was dense with dust, elm, birch and larch pollen, wet dirt from the sprinklers, garbage cans and flowers. It smelled intense, satisfying and solid.
The neighborhood slowly began quieting down. The neighbor lady across the street finished yelling at her family and closed her big door, hiding her car. The man next door finished watching TV for the night and stubbed out his final smoke on his porch. The silvery smoke floated up – interfering with my home range scent surveying. The street light finished monitoring everything and turned itself off – darkening most of the street. It’s always waiting for something to happen or pass by so it can turn its nosy self back on again.
I sleep on the big bed on the window side of Diana. I’ve done so every night since I got here. Tonight, Michael needed to rest and Diana couldn’t sleep at all. So, we settled ourselves down in the Girl Room on my bed. Well, it’s actually the guest room bed but we rarely have guests so it’s mine by default. My real (using air quotes here in case you somehow missed the in your snout obvious sarcasm) “dog bed” is abandoned on the floor, neglected from lack of use.
Diana finally finished reading and threw her book on the floor. She reached behind her head to the nightstand overflowing with jewelry and more books, and clicked off the porcelain lamp that she had hand painted in tiny pink and silver flowers.
“Good night, Pish. Sorry I kept you up. Maybe I can sleep now.”
Diana’s is terrible at sleeping. She is constantly flipping and flopping. My little Victorian wrought iron day bed jumped and creaked so much I was just sure we were going to crash to the floor.
I sighed and rabbit kicked my back paws into the middle of her back. Hopefully she got the point and will follow my lead into sleep. She has no clue just how much this flip flop stuff bugs me.
I don’t understand this not sleeping stuff as a concept or as a reality. Sleeping is not that hard. You lie down and go to sleep. I sleep all the time. Sleeping is one of my best skills.
I didn’t get to be the grand champion napper that I am today, with such amazing good looks I might add, on just a few short hours of flippy-floppy sleep. No, even though I make it look easy, it takes practice to achieve this restful perfection. I put the time in and it shows. Sleep helps me be me.
The screams echoed down the street below me, rushing up into our shadowy room. Sound filled every inch of the whole space. First louder, then quieter, down the street towards the wooded darkness, back up again into the rapidly flickering on street light, slamming through the air waves, shattering my ears.
Every living soul instinctively knows a blood curdling death scream when they hear it. My previous encounter with one was on my last, lonely night at the kill shelter. I froze for the length of a single in drawn breath, believing myself back in that hell again.
In less than a second I remembered where I was. I was in my forever home and I wasn’t going to let this life go without a fierce battle. I flattened my ears against my skull and stretched my paws wide open with all the nails positioned to shred. I lifted my tail into the overconfident (read terrified) position on my back and flew through the air in full on attack mode. I threw myself against the shadows bouncing off the walls. My world may be ending, but I had no intention of going down with it.
Oh, hey, I forgot to tell you. My name is Miss Sasha PishPosh. That’s the name the rescue people said I could have. Well, the Sasha part anyway.
Diana asked if she could also call me Miss PishPosh. She said I have an elegant way about me even when I’m being silly. I’m OK with it, I guess. I shrugged my shoulders and kept on beating up my stuffed bear, so it stuck.
I don’t know my real first name. Maybe I never had one. It’s a mystery. You see, I live, simply survived more like it, in isolation during my first years.