That dog
sat outside that house
for two and a half years.
It sat through snow and rain.
One year there was a tornado, and it was only half a mile away.
And it sat through that.
Houses suggest the idea there's a family inside them,
and this one suggested a very loving one.
That dog believed in his heart of hearts
that one day
the door would open
and these children
wonderful, laughing children
would love him and pet him
and so he sat.
and waited.
Sometimes, he would lay down,
and he slept a lot.
Sometimes, there would be days
where he really,
really thought
that those laughing children could burst out at
any
moment,
and he would pace
back and
forth
on those days.
It was like the world was black and white,
and the music playing was low and quiet and thin.
And that dog was waiting for
that glorious moment.
When suddenly, in a crescendo of happiness,
the world would fill with color
and the music would become full and thick.
And so he waited.
There was a long period, when that dogs faith
in the laughing children, almost faded.
His belief had almost worn out,
but then he thought that maybe he
had possibly heard the faintest sound,
and maybe even a chuckle.
Even if it was just a baby's gentle gurgle.
And so he paced
and he paced.
And after a while he lay down,
and then he slept.
and that dog didn't wake up
for a long time.
That dog opened his eyes,
immediately he knew something was different.
The light was on,
the light was on in the house.
He stood up.
At the edges of his world,
color started to fill in,
and the music
started to grow.
And the door **** turned,
and it was bright gold.
Yell,
yell so they notice you.
And when the door opened, there were people.
But there were no children.
There was no laughing.
The color faded out, and the music
stopped playing
all together.
These people were far to old,
the time when they had been children was gone,
it had left long ago.
So timidly, that dog stepped inside.
And wrinkled, softly wise people
touched his head
and scratched him.
It wasn't amazing,
it wasn't laughing children,
but maybe it had been, years ago.
Either way, he knew that this was right.
And he looked at himself,
and realized how long it had been,
and realized how old he himself was.
And he stood up, and he paced,
and he lay down.
And that dog slept,
and he didn't wake up.
Jul 7, 2010
Jul 7, 2010 at 5:57 PM UTC
That dog
sat outside that house
for two and a half years.
It sat through snow and rain.
One year there was a tornado, and it was only half a mile away.
And it sat through that.
Houses suggest the idea there's a family inside them,
and this one suggested a very loving one.
That dog believed in his heart of hearts
that one day
the door would open
and these children
wonderful, laughing children
would love him and pet him
and so he sat.
and waited.
Sometimes, he would lay down,
and he slept a lot.
Sometimes, there would be days
where he really,
really thought
that those laughing children could burst out at
any
moment,
and he would pace
back and
forth
on those days.
It was like the world was black and white,
and the music playing was low and quiet and thin.
And that dog was waiting for
that glorious moment.
When suddenly, in a crescendo of happiness,
the world would fill with color
and the music would become full and thick.
And so he waited.
There was a long period, when that dogs faith
in the laughing children, almost faded.
His belief had almost worn out,
but then he thought that maybe he
had possibly heard the faintest sound,
and maybe even a chuckle.
Even if it was just a baby's gentle gurgle.
And so he paced
and he paced.
And after a while he lay down,
and then he slept.
and that dog didn't wake up
for a long time.
That dog opened his eyes,
immediately he knew something was different.
The light was on,
the light was on in the house.
He stood up.
At the edges of his world,
color started to fill in,
and the music
started to grow.
And the door **** turned,
and it was bright gold.
Yell,
yell so they notice you.
And when the door opened, there were people.
But there were no children.
There was no laughing.
The color faded out, and the music
stopped playing
all together.
These people were far to old,
the time when they had been children was gone,
it had left long ago.
So timidly, that dog stepped inside.
And wrinkled, softly wise people
touched his head
and scratched him.
It wasn't amazing,
it wasn't laughing children,
but maybe it had been, years ago.
Either way, he knew that this was right.
And he looked at himself,
and realized how long it had been,
and realized how old he himself was.
And he stood up, and he paced,
and he lay down.
And that dog slept,
and he didn't wake up.
© Benjamin H. Anthony 2010