This entry is about fluffy clouds and puppy dogs.

Today, it rained. I woke up at 10:10. Why the hell is it harder to get up when it is raining out? Is it just the fact that it's darker? Such a weird thing. Either way I needed the sleep, so no big loss. So all the brain slices have been photographed, and the dot counting will commence today. I'm not holding my breath for any cool patterns or great discoveries.

Brian was 11 years old. For 8 of those 11 years he had wanted a dog as badly as he had wanted siblings. By age 11, he understood a few things. He understood his parents were too old to give him one, but that the other could always be bought. Brian's parents, Linda and Ted, (mom and dad to him) had given young brian a little more responsibility around the house in the last year or so. The Wickersons lived in a quaint house surrounded by hawthorne hills and forests of hemlock, maple and beech. Brian was responsible for chopping wood and brining it into the house after his father had cut down a tree. His father would stand by and observe, showing Brian how to safely wield the axe. Brian would only chop wood in the winter, when maple would split like glass if it was hit properly. He was not yet strong enough to split in the summer. The young boy was also charged with preparing the family meal once a week, so that he might learn to cook for himself. He was paid an allowance for the work he did around the house: occasional cleaning, emptying the dishwasher nightly, etc. His father paid him an extra wage for chopping and hauling wood, and dragging scrap to the burn pile. Country life does not come without work. For an 11 year-old, the boy had become quite industrious. It wasn't that he had a stange love of hard work. He was a normal 11 year old boy - he just wanted something really badly. That dog. The country house of the Wickersons was an old farm house style house, but it had no farmland of its own. The house was 100 years old, and since the time of its inception had gone through a series of property annexes and sales that resulted in the current situation. Neighbour owns and runs a farm on the property next door, which used to belong to the owners of the farmhouse. In fact, Brian's house was surrounded by farms. It turned out that on one of these, just across the street, a litter of puppies had just been born. The dogs just opened their eyes the week before for the first time. They were stumbling around, small enough to pick up with one hand. The dogs were a cross between a black lab mother and a border collie father with a blue eye. Brian would go and see them every day after school. He would knock on the door of the Mathesons, who owned the farmhouse, and Mrs. Matheson, the kind elderly woman who ran the hobby farm, would let him in with a smile. She would ask him if he wanted a cup of hot cacao, and he always declined politely, thinking only of the dogs. He gazed into the pen from above, feeling like god looking down on his subjects. The puppies would look up at him and squeak in excitement. Falling all over each other, their disproportionate heads always hitting the fleece blanket first and rolling the puppies over. The mother lay laxidaisically on her side, waiting for the dogs to nurse, casting uncaring sidelong glances up at Brian every so often. Each dog was black and white, and over the last week or so Brian had started to decide which one he wanted. Mrs. Matheson planned to sell each dog for $100 - but she was willing to sell Brian the puppy with the white streak down his nose, Brian's favourite, for $75, because Brian was the neighbour, and she liked him. The question was, would his parents agree? Brian saved and saved. It isnt' easy for an 11 year old boy to save up $100, even if he does get $20 every week. Over the next eight weeks Brian had trouble paying attention in school. All he was thinking about was his future dog. What would he name him? They would play frisbee together. He would teach the dog to fetch, to roll over, to play dead, to do tricks for treats, and to sleep at the foot of his bed while they dozed. Over the next eight weeks Brian convinced his parents that he was responsible enough to take care of a new dog. When the day came brian danced excitedly up the mile long drive way of the Mathesons and let himself in through the front door. He had been visiting almost daily, after all, watching the development of the puppies, and Mrs. Matheson was expecting him today, to come and buy. He handed her his $75 with sweaty hands, and picked up his special little guy. The puppy was 9 weeks old. Lucid and excited to be out of the pen. Brian noticed as he picked the dog up that the little canine had peed just a little. Held his the dog's nose to his own, and they looked each other in the eyes. Brian could barely contain his excitement as he looked into the little green eyes (which would soon turn brown) of the dog that he would know for the duration of the dog's life. He held Drop's nose to his own and felt the moisntess of a healthy dog nose sniffing back at him. Drop. That's what he would call him - after their first moment together, hoping that soon he would have the dog toilet trained and unwanted drops would be a thing of the past. Brian put the dog back in the pen to say goodbye to the others, and from his backpack he withdrew a leash and a collar. He reached down and put the collar around Drop's neck. He nervously picked up the little dog, put him under one arm, and after a thank you to Mrs. Matheson headed out the door and up the gravel driveway. He tried to walk to dog, but he was still too young to have any interest or endurance when it came to walking, so most of the way home consisted of Brain, who was now alsmot 12, carrying the little puppy in his arms and talking to his pet about all the things they would do together. Months passed, and Drop grew quickly. It was now obvious that one of Drop's eyes would not turn brown, for it was a sky blue. The dog was beautiful and healthy, and learning quickly because Brian spent so much time with him. By August he could run around with Drop off of the leash, for he faithfully followed Brian wherever he went. Brian would take drop every few weeks to see his mom, who he no longer had a big interest in, but he really enjoyed playing with his brother, Kamir, as they were the same age. It was time to go home for dinner and Brian jogged all the way down the driveway, with Drop in tow, almost able to keep up now. They ran all the way to the end and across the road. Brian's parents sat inside, at the dinner table, waiting only for Brian and his pal so that they could start their pasta dinner. It had been Brian's turn to cook tonight, but he had been taking such good care of Drop that they were willing to let this slide every couple of weeks. Ted was taking a drink out of his beer glass, and in mid gulp made eye contact with his wife, who was already looking at him. They could barely believe what they had just heard, a terrible rubber scream, like a choir of demons escaping the confines of hell, punctuated by a muffled 'thuck' as though someone had thrown a couch off of a roof. Ted dropped his glass on the table and Linda was already out of her seat. They froze with fear and relief as the front door swung open. Brian's face was terrified as he cried "Drop's Dead!"






Have a nice day.