Dick Case - Expanding Horizons Blog
In my happy Soviet childhood (thanks to Comrade Brezhnev) there was a glorious magazine "Funny Pictures". Mom repeatedly read to me an English (translated) poem about a bully English boy. What did he not do in his rotting Great Britain there. Over the years, I only remember "the red-headed Dick struggled with the bush, thrashed the branches with a stick." So, Dick is the name. We now categorically reject the well-known taboo (obscene) English curse.
I am returning home after about a three-hour walk through the woods with my sister, Ajax and Tori. On the way home, the doggirl turns into a mother-nurse: in addition to a suede hiking bag over her shoulder, where there are napkins, dog snacks, etc. etc., I carry in my hands a large bag of food for my husband and son. I climb up the stairs in the underpass. A large German shepherd rises a little higher than me. There is a metal collar on it, a muzzle glistens with metal on the side near the neck, and again on the back there is a metal short leash with a leather loop. Ammunition is complete. Beast, damn it. One? The shepherd breathes in the back (or, more precisely, under the knees) of a guy in an acid-green T-shirt. Is this the owner?
My subpersonal "psychiatrist-narcologist" suspects that the guy smoked bad grass. My other two components, a psychotherapist and an existential analyst, ask me to refrain from categorical judgments and labels. My Belarusian (and now Belarusian) subpersonality requires being pamyarkoўnai.
If you are already confused in me and do not understand anything, then so be it. The lack of understanding between people is an existential given: people do not understand each other well. The main thing is that I understand myself.
With such a multiple personality, all parts of which are unhappy that the big dog walks on its own, I reach the top step. The owner of the acid T-shirt turns around, they with a shepherd dog look at each other in surprise.
- It's your? I ask politely.
“No,” he stopped. A few more pedestrians stop at a distance, looking at the dog.
The dog is alarmed. He tramples, sniffs the air. Lost it! I urgently look for bags of sweets in the bowels, offer them to the dog in the open palm. The animal is stressed out; he has no time for food. The dog takes a couple of steps down, then abruptly rushes back up and jumps out onto the front page of the avenue (the driver manages to slow down). The dog runs along the strip, turns right, stops in the middle of the road (good, there is still red).
We all stood still, standing with our mouths open (this is me about myself, such stupid helplessness, I was going to shout “to me”, but there was noise and roar around). The dog darted to the passage and already along the narrow path (for pedestrians) along the first strip returned to the steps.
Well, that's it, I decided. You will not have a second attempt to get under the wheels.
Dog behavior suggests that the owner is somewhere close. Surely somewhere rushing around. This is st.m. Partisan, only 8 exits. You think!
I grabbed the noose on the leash. The dog looked into my eyes. A good sign, does not growl, does not grin, has not yet bitten off a hand, is waiting for my initiative.
In my childhood I had a German shepherd Mars. I well remember how once (I was about 7 years old) I led him on a paddock, or rather, he dragged me with his elbows forward on his paddock - then his elbows healed for a long time. But Mars has nothing to do with it. It’s just that I was still not quite firmly on my feet.
This strange dog came down cautiously, did not pull, and I also grouped. A prospect with eight exits from the transition loomed sadly in my head, plus a place for overexposure, plus ads with a photo and phone, plus a grocery bag and a hungry family.
The dog finished the descent and rested on the "artisan" and a short man (dark glasses, clothes and shoes, white, elegant). Snow White, damn it, Gandalf is white, and even my narcologist has taken the status of the “fool”. Something the tail of a dog does not wag joyfully? I still hold the leash.
- Dick! The man screams. - Where did you go? Aren `t you ashamed? How are you behaving?
So this is dick!
And you're drunk. Actually, Dick is doing well. Here to the owner more questions on behavior. This owner should be ashamed. The dog could die.
This is all I said out loud. I gave the owner a leash.
Found, and glory to the gods. Well, I drank, well, Sunday after all, I drank beer myself and blah blah blah. Home! We all go home.