Did the man know what “safe” meant? He had to concede he hadn’t known until Corky came into his life. Before meeting her he'd been dancing on a weak floor. Really, the floor of his world had been like the planks in an old farmhouse. As a teenager, with his sighted friends, he’d break into abandoned houses and the boys would walk timidly over sagging boards. They might fall into the dark cellar with the next step or the next. He hadn’t been afraid. It was just blindness extended. If you live in the absence of safety you can't magnify it.
Walking with Corky he saw he was finally guaranteed good steps. He'd never known them before. His landscape would never be the same. He saw that he would never be the same on the inside. He had a dog soul now. He and Miss Corky were twins. He understood this was real. He knew something of the ancient man who first knew how life could be more secure, more eventful, more of hope, just because of the dog.
I like the third person POV. Hugs to guide dogs everywhere.
Posted by: Georgia Whitney | April 22, 2012 at 10:34 AM
Having begun too high he stops, clears his throat, resumes:
A dog came in the kitchen
And stole a crust of bread.
Then cook up with a ladle
And beat him till he was dead.
Then all the dogs came running
And dug the dog a tomb–
He stops, broods, resumes:
Then all the dogs came running
And dug the dog a tomb
And wrote upon the tombstone
For the eyes of dogs to come:
A dog came in the kitchen
And stole a crust of bread.
Then cook up with a ladle
And beat him till he was dead.
Obviously, I'm still working through Godot.
Posted by: Leslie B | April 22, 2012 at 03:15 PM