Today being May Day, I took myself and the girls into the garden to wash our faces in the dew. No one at the school bus stop had heard of that tradition, but it's something I've done all my life and although it was a light frost, it was still wet, so we did it.
I was putting laundry away in my bedroom last night when I noticed something. Killer's ear was sticking up and I stopped for the first time in a long time and actually looked at him. Killer is my dog. Toy, ride-on dog, actually. He was given to me on my first birthday, by my cousin Janet which means he's 43 years old, and he's been in my bedroom ever since, no matter where I've lived or how cool I was, heh.
Looking at him now, battered and small, it seems incredible to remember that my brother and I used to both sit on him at the same time and push him along with our feet. I still remember my horror when I got back from a school trip and found that Mum had darned a hole in his side. She'd done a beautiful job, that's still holding him together 33 years later, but it looked so new and white against his fur.
He's lost an eye (don't know when) and his fur is rubbed away to nothing in most places.
His name always made people laugh as he's such a sweet looking dog. One of my uncles named him (at one, I probably wasn't saying much) and I grew up knowing that was his name without it having any meaning. It was a word, a soft word, easy to say, and the joke was never there for me.
Here he is:
( Killer the dog )
I was putting laundry away in my bedroom last night when I noticed something. Killer's ear was sticking up and I stopped for the first time in a long time and actually looked at him. Killer is my dog. Toy, ride-on dog, actually. He was given to me on my first birthday, by my cousin Janet which means he's 43 years old, and he's been in my bedroom ever since, no matter where I've lived or how cool I was, heh.
Looking at him now, battered and small, it seems incredible to remember that my brother and I used to both sit on him at the same time and push him along with our feet. I still remember my horror when I got back from a school trip and found that Mum had darned a hole in his side. She'd done a beautiful job, that's still holding him together 33 years later, but it looked so new and white against his fur.
He's lost an eye (don't know when) and his fur is rubbed away to nothing in most places.
His name always made people laugh as he's such a sweet looking dog. One of my uncles named him (at one, I probably wasn't saying much) and I grew up knowing that was his name without it having any meaning. It was a word, a soft word, easy to say, and the joke was never there for me.
Here he is:
( Killer the dog )