Saturday 30 June 2012

At last!  I am BACK!!

It is so wonderful to return to my blogging home – although I cannot rightly explain precisely where it is that I have been…  This is not due to any bond of secrecy; I just am at a total loss as to how to account for it.

I have tried to look at previous blog entries, to see if they contain a clue, but met with no success.  I asked my partner to help me to scroll back with the mouse (I have never been able to use the mouse, being denied the human blessing of opposable thumbs) but she refused.  She said that I must not look.  I also noticed a small, exquisitely carved, dark mahogany, marquetry box sitting on the computer desk, next to the monitor and the telephone.  Closer examination revealed a small brass plaque affixed to the box, which read “JASPER”.  I was intrigued.  My partner told me that I must never, EVER, under any circumstances, open - or attempt to open – this box.  Of course, this only intrigued me further, but my partner was insistent.  She has told me that I cannot know what transpired or what is in the box.  I must concede that she has generally been consistently correct about such things, so the recent past will remain a mystery.  But what DID happen to me…?

I remember tears; goodbyes; a trip to the vets – and then…  Then what?  There was a departure of sorts.  In no time at all I found myself falling, falling, falling through blackness.  I couldn’t see anything, but I wasn’t afraid.  Down, down I fell – until, suddenly I felt myself being caught by a large, gentle pair of hands.  I struggled to see into the velvety blackness but to no avail – and then, all at once, I was no longer falling but floating.  Floating, drifting, in the great nothingness, supported by the large and gentle unseen hands.  I paddled my legs, savouring the sensation of “swimming” in air.  Gradually, I noticed that I seemed to be rising.  The blackness began to fade to tones of grey and finally a misty rose-pink.  With alarm, I realised that I could no longer see my snout in front of me.  I looked down; I couldn’t see my feet either!  I felt whole, but seemed dispossessed of my whole body – I was PART of the nothing…

Whilst I was musing on these alarming discoveries I failed to realise that I was no longer floating.  I was no longer supported by the mysterious hands.  In fact, I was standing in a lush green garden – and I was not alone.  With a yelp of pure joy I recognised Kipper, my dearest friend from the Rescue Home (see my “Evolution of Jasper” series).  We greeted each other in mutual ecstasy.  Despite the fact that I seemed to be entirely invisible he could clearly see me and I him.  Standing beside him, I marvelled at the exquisite surroundings.  It was like a fantasy landscape from a dream, yet I was undoubtedly standing there.  I suddenly recoiled in terror and flung myself at Kipper as a Bengal tiger and a large lion walked past.  But my horror was as nothing compared to my astonishment as I noticed that trotting alongside them was a tiny terrier puppy.  I gaped, open mouthed.  The little pup was chatting excitedly, jabbering away to the two large wildcats, who were listening politely with interest and not the slightest glimmer of hunger or malevolence in their eyes.  My gaze strayed to the edge of a river where the water that flowed was of the purest crystal blue.  A couple of zebras and an elephant were drinking at the water’s edge, totally unconcerned by the small group of huge alligators drifting aimlessly nearby.  I wanted to cry out a warning, but only a pathetic and mildly embarrassing squeak came out of my mouth.

“They’re not drinking because they’re thirsty.” said Kipper, mistaking my incredulity.  “They just like the sensation of it.”

I found my voice.

“Is there food here, then?”

“For those who want it, yes, there is plenty.  But are you hungry?”

I thought about it.  I expected to be ravenous.  But I wasn’t.  I felt as though I had just eaten a good dinner, not stuffed too full, but satisfied.  Most odd.  I was about to ask Kipper about it, when I noticed a young man, dressed in white, half-leaning, half-sitting on a large grey rock nearby.  He was smiling at me and my friend Kipper.

“That man’s hurt!” I barked in surprise, looking at several nasty-looking wounds that he bore.  “I didn’t think that anyone was hurt here!”

“He isn’t hurt.” grinned Kipper, wagging his plumy and magnificent tail, “Those are marks of honour!  They did hurt once, like my heart did and your snout did – we all hurt once.  But he’s the only one who has kept his scars.  He says he doesn’t mind them, he says that they’re a good reminder.  You can ask him if you want, he doesn’t mind.  Go on.”  Kipper nudged me forward and I hesitantly crept towards the young man.  He was very handsome – quite swarthy, with a slightly Middle-Eastern look to him, but his eyes – oh! His eyes were the kindest and most beautiful I had ever seen.  He had the sort of look to a human that straight-away puts you at your ease, like my partner or a nice vet, someone who just wanted to help you be the best that you could be without forcing their own ways upon you.  I liked him instantly.  As I trotted up to him he grinned.

“Hullo Jasper.” he said, and I felt a glow wash over me at the sound of his voice.  “You are welcome here.”  He patted my head and played with my ears the way I liked.

Somehow, without knowing or understanding anything, I knew that it was going to be alright.

And then I found myself back here, typing this to you now.  It is all most odd.  For I have found myself in a den of women.

They are everywhere.  Well, it is a very small house.  First, there is my partner.  Next, a large grey tousle-furred pretty lady of middle-age named Betty.  And last, but by no means least, an exquisite young wire-haired Jack Russell called Gisèle.  Why?  Where did they come from?  I am not entirely at ease in finding myself amidst this nest of harridans.  One can almost taste the oestrogen that pollutes the air.

Besides these horrors, I have other concerns.  It is almost as though I am here – yet not here.  My partner, Betty and Gisèle, undoubtedly can see and communicate with me as before.  I am not entirely convinced, however, that everyone besides these three and certain others are aware of my presence.  I daresay it will all become clearer in time…

For the present, however, my partner took me quietly to one side.  It seems, as she confided to me, that Betty and Gizmo (Gisèle’s commonly-used nickname) do not get along.  Far from it, in fact.  There has been much bullying of the latter by the former and some savagery has ensued, culminating in a distressing episode during which Betty tore off part of Gizmo’s lip.  With tears in her eyes, my partner implored me to step in and restore order to the household.

Stepping in to mediate between two exceptionally attractive feisty young ladies...?  Well, it’s a tough job – but I believe I may know JUST the Staffordshire Bull Terrier for the task, hehehe…